


The Haunting (Or Something Lame Like That)

by Amity_Bell



Category: Suits (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amity_Bell/pseuds/Amity_Bell
Summary: After witnessing a tragic accident outside the Pearson Hardman building, Mike falls victim to a series of unexplainable attacks. Harvey tries to help him when he realizes that something beyond Mike's control is happening, but only succeeds in becoming enmeshed in the mystery alongside Mike. A pair of strange men begin dogging their steps through the city, leaving Harvey uneasy and wondering what Mike's gotten them into now.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the Suits Big Bang 2011, and if you haven't seen all of the pieces people managed to pump out you should really go track down the LJ comm. Special thanks to ladyknightanka, zekkas, c8h7n3o2, loverstar, and atennuh, with more details on that over on my LJ with the original post.

It was a beautiful day out, not a cloud in sight. The buildings all around towered far above the street, windows glistened in the sun and made everything seem brighter and cleaner. No birds were singing this far into the city, but the chorus of angry honks from the street as people were blinded by the glare could lend itself to the imagination. Harvey reveled in these days, when everyone he met was in a good mood – and were therefore easily molded to his will. The sunrises from his condo didn't hurt, either.

Harvey accepted his coffee from the vendor and stepped out of line, internally reveling in the heat on such a crisp autumn morning. He sipped at it gingerly, scanning the masses for any sign of Mike. The kid wasn't late yet, but Harvey was already reviewing what jabs he hadn't tried on him yet. His being late wouldn't ever truly get Harvey into trouble (Harvey had long ago learned to plan around other people), but he wasn't about to let his associate know that.

He jumped when tires suddenly screamed on the street beside him, accompanied by a series of meaty thuds. Harvey turned to see who'd been hit, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw –

Mike's bike –

Harvey half-ran a few feet forward, heart thudding and vision sparking at the edges when he saw Mike on his knees, leaning over –

Wait, on his knees?

Once he realized Mike was unharmed, air rushed into his lungs and his vision grayed, but he moved through it, clutching onto his atypical calm. He rushed forward to lean over Mike, a hand on his shoulder for added balance as he got a better look at what happened.

The man on the asphalt was a young man, barely older than Mike, and his face tugged at Harvey's memory. Before he got any further than that, Mike's shoulder shifted under his hand, drawing his attention back to his associate. Mike had assumed the CPR position and was pumping his hands on the quasi-stranger's chest, face panicked and beaded with sweat. His expression jogged Harvey's memory, and he realized this was Allan – Aaron? – one of the other associates. He thought he'd once used him as an example to prove to Mike that 'getting it' was important, but he couldn't be sure. Mike grabbed Aaron's chin and pinched his nose for two breaths before returning to pumping his chest.

Harvey straightened and looked around for help. There was a traffic cop on his radio trying to form a perimeter, and a cacophony of sirens was growing closer. He looked at Mike, watching him grit his teeth and grunt with the effort and frustration of the situation. The moment stretched, the surrounding noise not penetrating the shock at the sudden catastrophe that blanketed their minds. Mike looked away from what he was doing long enough to meet Harvey's eyes, and the older man felt his mouth twist with sympathy. This was going to just wreck Mike.

A flash of white and blue caught Harvey's eye and he caught at Mike's shoulder, pulling him back and away as the paramedics fell to their knees beside Aaron. He didn't stay to watch, instead leading Mike to the curb just outside the police tape and forcing him to sit. When Mike's eyes remained on the gruesome scene before him, Harvey crouched in front of him and tapped his cheek.

"Hey, look at me," he said, eyes intent on Mike's face. Mike tried to lean around him to keep watching, so Harvey gripped his chin and forced him to look him in the eyes. "You with me, kid?"

Mike visibly gathered himself and nodded, deliberately turning his face to the side to both break Harvey's hold and survey the crowd. Harvey pulled out his cell and hit Jessica's speed dial, eyes flying to Mike's face when the younger man suddenly leaned over to spit. There was a pinkish tinge to the froth leaving Mike's mouth, and Harvey grimaced when he realized what it was, and where it came from. When Mike's eyes drifted as through to look toward the paramedics, Harvey put his hand back on his shoulder. Mike shut his eyes and clamped his jaw shut resolutely. Jessica picked up on the second ring, distracting him.

"Harvey?" She sounded surprised to hear from him. He spoke brusquely before she could say any more.

"There's been an accident in front of the building. A taxi hit one of the associates. Allan? Aaron?"

"Aaron," Mike confirmed. Harvey peered over his shoulder to see a sheet had been laid over the body and someone official-looking headed in their direction.

"Mike and I won't be in for the rest of the day. I'll take care of the situation down here." Now that there was relatively little to shield Mike from (that is to say, nothing he wouldn't already know in a few moments more), Harvey moved to stand at Mike's shoulder. The woman was diminutive and dressed in a suit, pen and paper already poised in her hands. Her warm eyes roved from Harvey to Mike and back, before finally settling on Mike.

"Are you the one who administered CPR, sir?" Mike rubbed his eyes with one hand and nodded. Harvey's eyes trained on his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

"Yeah. I, uh... my name's Michael Ross," he said, pulling his hand from his face and looking somewhere over her left shoulder. He very carefully didn't look at Aaron, though Harvey knew he couldn't have missed the glaringly white sheet covering him. The woman wrote for longer than was necessary to just jot down his name.

"I'm Detective Layton. Could you walk me through what happened?" Mike nodded in response, fidgeted with his sleeves and abruptly stood. He gazed at his hands before seeming to realize it was a nervous gesture and forcing them to still.

"I was riding my bike, on my way in to work. I was headed toward the building, and he was crossing the street the other way. There's a coffee shop the associates like down there." Mike caught Harvey's eye and held it, then stopped stalling. "He was still facing me when the taxi hit him."

The woman continued writing, allowing him a moment to breathe before posing a more difficult question.

"Could you describe the accident in more detail? I'm sorry, I know that this is difficult." Mike released a hard breath, continuing to look Harvey in the eye. If that was what the kid needed to tell the detective anything necessary, Harvey could suck it up and deal. He nodded in a manner that could be considered encouraging, and a little weight seemed to ease from Mike's shoulders. Dominic may be a grown man, but Mike was young and this was by no means a normal circumstance.

"He, uh, saw me notice him and looked kind of... excited? Just for a moment. He hurried out into the street, like he was coming over to talk to me, and... the taxi driver was frustrated with the traffic or something, I dunno, but he suddenly jerked the car into the left lane and gunned it." He wrapped an arm around his ribs and covered his mouth, trying to cover the tremulous quality of his voice. "The impact was right about knee-level, and he sort of - crumpled into the hood. He looked so shocked."

Mike cleared his throat and blinked a couple of times, finally looking away from Harvey.

"His feet left the ground for a few seconds, but it wasn't like in the movies, he didn't roll over the top of the car or anything. The driver hit the brakes and he fell to the ground. I couldn't stop my bike in time," here he gestured to the bicycle lying on its side several feet from them. "I crashed it, and when I got back up he was on his back, not moving. I loosened..."

Mike lost control of his emotions for a moment and focused on just breathing to center himself.

"I loosened his tie and took his pulse, checked his breathing. He stopped breathing, and I started CPR. It felt like forever –" Mike's voice cracked and he trailed off. The detective paused in her note taking to gaze at him in concern. Harvey turned to face her, effectively pulling her attention from Mike.

"Is that enough for now?" Detective Layton nodded, recognizing Harvey's tactic for what it was. She placed her pen behind her ear and pulled a business card out of her pocket. This woman was old school; Harvey could appreciate that.

"Thank you. If there's anything else you can think of, please call. Otherwise, I'll get hold of you when a further statement is required." She handed off the business card and walked towards the cop at the perimeter. Harvey flipped the card to find a number scrawled elegantly on the back. He perfunctorily examined the name and numbers on the front until he deemed enough time had passed for Mike to compose himself and turned back to him. Raking his eyes over Mike's form revealed blood stains darkening his right knee and both arms from elbow to wrist, as though he'd fallen on his crossed arms.

"Ready to go?" Mike faltered, uncertain how to answer. Harvey took pity on the kid and didn't wait for an answer. With one hand on his associate's lower back, he directed him into their building. After the requisite pause at the security desk and the short walk to the elevator, Harvey's discomfort with the unaccustomed silence became too much for him.

"Do you want to go to the hospital for those scrapes?" They should have had the paramedics look Mike over. Mike looked at Harvey, confused, then looked down at his injuries as though he'd been completely unaware of the wounds. He peeked down one sleeve to tally the damage while Harvey watched. Letting the arm drop, he shrugged.

"It just needs some Neosporin and gauze and it'll be fine." He straightened and spoke clearly, like he'd finally come out of his daze. The doors slid open on their floor and they strode out onto the familiar flooring, but they hadn't gone more than a few feet when Mike jerked back like he'd been shocked.

"My bike! I didn't lock it up, I need to -" He spun around to return to the elevator, but Harvey got a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Hold on there, tiger. You're not going back down there." He caught sight of one of Louis' associates and snapped his fingers to catch the kid's attention.

"You, yes. Come here. You are going to go downstairs and lock up his," he pointed a thumb at Mike, "bike. It'll be behind the crime scene tape; if the cops don't want you to move it wait until they give the O.K. Give him the lock, Mike."

Mike clutched at his bag possessively, widening his eyes in disbelief as he stared at Harvey. The other associate darted his eyes between them like a frightened rabbit. Harvey held out a hand.

"Fine. Give me your bag." Harvey tried to stare Mike down. He didn't see what the big deal was, and he didn't appreciate being faced with Mike's atypical insubordination in front of one of Louis's associates. Heaven forbid the timid man mention it and give Louis more ammo in their feud. "Mike, give me your bag or your lock, I don't care which, or you're fired."

Harvey saw a fleeting anger on Mike's face before he handed over his bag.

"I'll be at my desk," Mike said, voice tight, then limped off. Looked like that knee was catching up with him. Harvey reached into the bag distractedly as he watched him go, and his brow creased in consternation when he felt something wet and sticky. Lip curling in disgust, he pulled the bag open further to find the source. A punctured can of Red Bull was nestled comfortably among the papers and other odds and ends, and Harvey could almost hear Mike laughing evilly over his revenge.

"Okay, that's gross. You grab the lock."

Harvey held the bag out to the terrified associate, and he reached into the bag as though he expected a rattlesnake to leap out and bite him any time. He tentatively closed his fingers around the cold and sticky hunk of metal and paused to be sure nothing horrible was forthcoming. Harvey eyeballed him when he reached to pull away the paper stuck to it, and duly afraid of the repercussions of destroying paperwork that belonged to Harvey, he gently pulled each sheet from the lock. That done, he stood frozen with the realization that his only option was to put them back in the ruined bag. Exasperated by the associate's inability to act, Harvey shook the bag in his direction. The associate squeezed his eyes shut as he replaced them, then all but ran to the elevator the second Harvey moved to go around him.

Harvey made his way to Donna's desk, holding the bag as far from his suit as he could. An odd squelching sound emerged from its depths with every step he took. Donna raised her eyebrows at him when he rounded the corner and she identified him as the source of the bizarre noise.

"Did you two have a mishap and accidentally 'fire' into that bag?" she asked dryly. Harvey stared at her flatly, then dropped the bag on her desk. She screeched and jumped out of her chair, then grabbed for the bag when it titled over toward her keyboard. She narrowed her eyes at him, mouth tight.

"Oh, you will pay," Donna threatened. Harvey shrugged; it was worth it. He motioned to the bag she was daintily holding.

"Get someone to take care of that." He stalked into his office, hearing Donna's grumbled, "What am I, your secretary?" and smirking. He almost set his hand on his phone before remembering it was a sticky mess. He marched back out of his office and stopped again at Donna's desk.

"Oh, can you have a courier run to the drug store and get some gauze, Neosporin and Ibuprofen? Thanks." She rolled her eyes, but reached for the phone anyway.

"I so don't owe you anymore," she tossed at his departing back.

oOo

Harvey approached Mike's desk, medical supplies in hand. Mike looked like a social pariah, what with all the associates giving his desk a wide berth. Louis, revealing his decent side, had put the fear of God into all the associates by informing them that anyone who so much as breathed wrong in Mike's direction would be working in the mail room for the rest of their lives. Or maybe he was worried Mike would leave the firm and they'd lose their paperwork machine.

Whatever.

He dropped the plastic sack on Mike's desk, startling him. Mike popped the, apparently salvaged, headphones out of his ears.

"What are you doing?" Harvey asked mildly.

"Uh, working?" Mike squinted at him like he thought he was senile. "Why?"

"I told Jessica we're both taking the day off." Mike scoffed and turned back to his computer.

"I'm serious, come on."

Mike looked askance at him.

"No."

"This isn't a request, you're coming with me. Now." Mike totally ignored him, this time grabbing a highlighter and random file from his desk. Deciding force wouldn't work, Harvey tried persuasion.

"If you stay here and keep working, you'll be dealing with Louis. He's taking care of all my cases today." Mike gave him an 'Is that supposed to intimidate me?' look and Harvey sighed, vowing to himself that he'd limit his associate's contact with Donna. The kid was sharp enough on his own, without her not-insignificant influence.

"Fine. Grab the bag and I'll take care of your scrapes in the bathroom." He walked away without waiting for Mike, the telltale rustling of the sack informing him he was. Once safely ensconced in the confirmed privacy of the bathroom, Harvey locked the door and had Mike hop up on the counter.

"Knee first," he said, and Mike tried rolling up his pants. He hissed when the cloth, now fused with the scabs, tugged painfully. Harvey touched the tips of his fingers to the back of Mike's hand.

"Hold on, let's get that wet before you rip the scabs off. And why didn't you change, anyway?" Harvey grabbed a handful of paper towels, soaked them, and placed them on Mike's knee. "Hold that."

He fired off a quick text to Donna asking her to bring Mike's spare suit to the men's bathroom, then soaked some more paper towels and held them to Mike's right arm, leaving Mike to take care of the left. Mike didn't break the silence, still irritated with Harvey, and they remained that way for several minutes. Eventually Harvey sighed with fond exasperation.

"You're an idiot, you know," he told Mike, a smirk playing about his lips.

"What! Why?" Mike squawked, affronted.

"You're blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault." Harvey's eyes pierced right to the heart of Mike's thoughts, as always, and he flinched. Mike slid his eyes to the side and twitched the hand holding the paper towels in place.

"Yeah, and what do you know about it?" he asked belligerently. Harvey huffed.

"Well, I've never been in a situation quite like the one you're in, but I do know what it's like to blame yourself for someone's death. The thing you've got to understand is that Aaron would have done the same thing if it was me, or Jessica, or even Louis that had noticed him. The guy was starving for that sort of attention." Harvey gauged his words' effect before continuing. "If you hadn't been there, he still would have crossed the street, and the cab still would have pulled a jackass move. You tried to save him, that's the best anyone could ask."

Mike still didn't look up or acknowledge him, and they were interrupted by someone knocking at the door. Mike reached up and took over the task of securing the paper towels, leaving Harvey free to answer the door now the moment was gone. Donna shoved the suit into his chest the instant it was clear of the door and stalked off, the sharp staccato of her heels speaking her anger clearly. Harvey idly wondered if anyone had told her about Mike's rough morning yet, then figured she'd probably heard. She'd brought the suit, after all. He shut and locked the door, then swiveled to address Mike.

"You might as well take those clothes off for this. Gonna have to change anyway." Mike gave a put-upon sigh, but carefully jumped down and complied. Harvey carefully hung the suit on a stall door. By the time he'd laid the bandaging supplies out on the counter, Mike was again slouched on the counter, now sans all but boxers and socks.

He didn't react when Harvey slathered his knee with antibiotic ointment and wrapped it, but his mouth twitched when Harvey moved close to the counter between his knees to deal with his arms.

"You locked the door, right?" Mike asked, voice wry with amusement. Surprised, Harvey snorted a laugh when he realized they were in a superficially compromising position.

"I always knew you were a gutter dweller," he chuckled. He finished patching Mike up efficiently, then washed his hands while Mike dressed. Using one more paper towel to dry his hands, he leaned his back against the lip of the counter and eyed Mike with speculation.

"I'll take my cases back from Louis and let you work today on one condition." Mike's head darted up to watch him warily.

"What's that?"

Harvey weighed his words carefully before deciding to continue. He looked Mike straight in the eye.

"I want you to come stay with me. I know this may not seem like it's going to have a big effect on you, but when it really hits you, it will."

Mike cracked a small smile and quipped, "Aw, that's cute, you're worried."

Harvey rolled his eyes and threw away the paper towel.

"I'm not worried, I'm just looking out for the firm. We can't afford to have two associates out of commission." Harvey examined Mike critically during his callous statement. When Mike's face didn't so much as twitch, he decided he should back off. He wasn't going to get anywhere right now, not with Mike thinking he was Jericho. Like Jericho, Harvey knew, his walls wouldn't last forever, and when they came down Harvey would be ready. He left Mike there without another word.

oOo

Harvey stood observing Mike from the hall that led to his office. His associate was currently engaged in proofing a set of briefs for one of Louis' cases, as he'd finished all of his work for Harvey several hours before. Harvey should have known that Mike would be one of the people who dealt with hard memories by burying themselves in work. Maybe Mike thought that if he buried the memories in new knowledge, they'd simply disappear.

Over the course of the (very long, very boring) day, Harvey had considered various ways to get Mike to talk to someone. Though Donna and Rachel seemed like viable options, he'd decided he'd go for the one person he knew Mike couldn't say no to. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket to make sure it was still perfect, then strode confidently up to Mike's desk. He rapped his knuckles on his cubicle and waited for Mike to remove his earphones.

"Go home, go see your grandmother or go do whatever it is you do, but I don't want to see you in this building again tonight. Capiche?" Mike stared at him blankly for a moment, obviously still in his research head space. Harvey smirked when comprehension hit Mike all at once and he slammed the file closed. Mike slouched back in his chair, letting his jaw go slack.

"Huh."

Harvey was familiar with this routine, but decided to bite anyway.

"What?" he asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"You're being nice to me," Mike said smugly. He swung slightly back and forth in his chair, reminding Harvey of nothing so much as the cliché cat with the canary.

"Or, Jessica is riding my ass about you taking time off and I don't want to hear it," he replied, condescending smile out in full force. "Now get gone."

Harvey let Mike revel in being right for as long as it took him to clamber to his feet and sling his bag over his shoulder before bursting his bubble.

"Oh, and if you're even one second late tomorrow?" Harvey waited for Mike to meet his eyes, smirk rapier sharp. "I'll have you doing the paperwork for every merger Pearson Hardman handles for the next month."

Mike almost protested, visibly thought better of it and conceded with a sigh. The allure of a rare evening spent in the company of his grandmother was too much, especially when coupled with the prospect of going home early.

Harvey idly watched him as he left, knowing he'd rue the day Mike finally learned to read him. The morning had been a shocking one, and Harvey knew that for the foreseeable future he'd be worried every morning Mike came in late. For now, he was secure in the knowledge that Mike was clueless as ever when it came to the emotions of people of Harvey's caliber.

Pleased, he turned sharply on his heel, sending associates scuttling in every direction like roaches.


	2. Two

Mike stood up on the pedals of his bike, gliding gracefully through traffic. He hated to admit that Harvey might have a point about the accident affecting him; his mind flashed on it any time he wasn't actively thinking of something else. Unfortunately, riding a bike wasn't exactly strenuous mental exercise, and with no really tricky cases on his plate there wasn't much to distract him.

He was still in a fairly good mood, buoyed up by Harvey's badly hidden worry. It was nice to know that even though the relationship between them wasn't exactly platonic or professional, he could rely on Harvey when he needed to. He was contemplating the vague boundaries between the two of them when his bike shuddered beneath him. His pedals lost all traction, and the suddenly excessive force of his next down pedal jarred him from head to toe. His feet spun on the pedals, all traction gone, and he overcompensated badly, knocking himself off-balance.

He was going pretty fast, so when his bike careened out of control, he went down hard. The heel of his left palm caught the brunt of the impact, knocking him off-center so that his helmet encased head ricocheted off the ground and his left calf scraped across the ground, trapped beneath the bike. His body contorted, his shoulder barely touching the asphalt as he slid to a stop.

He lay stunned as he registered all the bright spots of pain clamoring to be the center of attention. Sitting up revealed the cause of the crash; his bike chain had snapped and was nowhere to be seen. Mike's fingers trembled as he forced himself to bring his left hand away from where he held it cradled against his stomach; the flesh was pretty badly mangled and bits of dirt and gravel were clinging to the wound. He hissed at the renewed pain actually seeing the wound caused and brushed the debris away as best he could.

Carefully, Mike extricated his leg from his bike's mangled corpse, and slid up his pant leg to see how bad it really was. His leg was a mess of blood from mid-thigh to ankle, his shoes and pants a complete lost cause, bandages from earlier barely clinging to his skin. It would have to be the same leg that he'd brutalized that morning.

A swell of frustration choked off his breath and he felt tears stinging at his eyes. He clenched his fists, ignoring the burn of sweaty, dirty fingers digging into his scraped palm and slammed them against the ground once, twice.

"Damn it! What is wrong with me?" he yelled. Mike drew his knees up and rested his elbows on them to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying and failing to wrestle his emotions under control.

He sniffled and swiped at his nose with his ruined sleeve. Angry or not, sitting here wasn't going to do anything for him but get him hit by a car, and wouldn't that be a great way to top off the night. He sighed, grabbed his bike and clambered to his feet. The friction had burst one of his tires and he resisted the urge to chuck it on the side of the road, instead forcing himself to take the first step down the last few blocks to the care home.

Mike was almost there when the rain started. He stopped and let his head fall back on his shoulders, grinding his teeth.

"Like my day wasn't bad enough already!" he said, voice spiking into a shout on the last word. Lightning shattered his vision and he sighed.

"Maybe I should just make like a turkey and drown," he grumbled darkly to himself, laughing without humor and moving on.

 

oOo

 

He dumped his bike by the front entrance, confident that no one would bother with the hunk of junk in its current state. Due to the late hour, he managed to reach his grandmother's room unmolested. She looked up from her book when he opened the door, practically jumping out of her skin when she got a good look at him.

"Oh, my Lord! Michael!" She wasted no time in seizing the call button to summon a nurse, jamming the button down repeatedly.

"What on Earth happened to you, boy? Come here," she commanded, patting the bed next to her in a gesture that managed to be both imperious and concerned.

"Grammy, it's okay, I'm okay. I just had a little mishap –" he tried to say, shifting into reassurance mode, but she was having none of it.

"Michael Ross, you will come here and sit down right this moment, or so help me," she threatened, eyes hard despite her trembling voice. Age had done nothing to tame her spirit. Mike held up his hands in surrender and winced when she gasped at the wound on his hand.

Mike knew very well that there was no arguing his Grammy down when she thought he needed help, not after the kind of life she'd led. Two generations of teenagers (and one especially stubborn husband) and all of their bullshit had honed her wit to a fine point, and the way Mike had behaved before Harvey came into his life had ensured she kept it that way. He knew that she still wasn't sure what to think of 'this Harvey fellow.' While on the surface she was grateful to him for making Mike clean up his act, she was still leery of people taking advantage of and sabotaging her grandson.

He winced and turned his hand to get a better look at the scrape – it was pretty bad, so he supposed her reaction was justified. When he was close enough she didn't wait for him to sit down, she simply gripped him by the uninjured wrist and yanked him down next to her. She pushed up his sleeve, warm worried eyes meeting his when she found the dirtied bandages. He lowered his gaze and she cupped his cheek gently to force it back.

"Michael, look at me. What happened?" Mike floundered for the right words, and reading the struggle on his face, she pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and leaned into her as she smoothed the hair from his forehead and pressed a dry, soft kiss to his brow.

"Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael," she soothed. "It'll be all right."

He relaxed, hands cradled limply in his lap, and the words were suddenly there, pushing to get out.

"I saw somebody die today," he told her, voice smaller than she'd heard it in years. She swallowed thickly and pressed her cheek against his forehead, squeezing him a little tighter. There were so many things Mike had seen that she would have given anything to keep him from, and here was yet one more. She closed her eyes against the swell of tears and lifted an apology to her children, for failing to keep their child from so much.

"That's why I'm all banged up," he continued, flapping his arms a little to demonstrate what he meant. "I crashed my bike. I – I tried to help him, but I guess he was too badly hurt."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" she suggested gently, resettling with her chin resting on top of his head and one hand stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. She spared a thought for the whereabouts of the nurse she'd summoned, only peripherally registering his slight nod. He took a deep breath of her perfume before beginning; it was a smell that wreathed nearly all his fondest memories and went a long way towards settling any raw nerves.

"I was on my way to work this morning, coming up to a crosswalk on my bike. One of the other associates, Aaron, saw me coming from the other way and started to hurry over. This cab just gunned it and ran right into him, bam! I tried too hard to stop and crashed my bike, and when I managed to get up he was just lying there." Here Mike paused, and she waited to push, already seeing where this was going. Her grandson wasn't usually the type to lay the blame on himself –- much as she loved him, everything he'd done with Trevor was voluntary –- but this situation was clearly different.

"I gave him CPR, the paramedics showed up and next thing I know he's dead," he said, glossing over the emotion behind it. He untangled himself from her embrace, sitting up and trying to distance himself from the memory.

"Trevor's looked worse after one of his really bad benders," Mike said. He summoned a paltry imitation of his usual mischievous smile, the one that invited you to join in on the joke.

Mike's grandmother squeezed his shoulder and slid her hand down to cover his, mouth tightening with humor as she actively let it go. She didn't allow his attempt at levity to deter her; one of his greatest talents had always been the ability to make her laugh in near any situation. It had gotten her through many a rough patch after the loss of her son and daughter-in-law. He'd told her what had happened, and that would have to be cathartic enough for now.

"And the fresh scrapes? Someone obviously helped you with these bandages, I know how terrible you are at wrapping gauze," she said, lifting a castigating brow. Mike huffed an annoyed laugh and rubbed his temple, wishing for a better shield against his Grammy's all-seeing eyes.

"My bike chain snapped on the way over here," he told her ruefully. They both looked up when there was a knock on the door and a nurse peeked into the room. Mike didn't refrain from rolling his eyes when his grandma motioned the nurse inside and pointed at him.

"Susan, Mike took a bad spill on his bike, is there any way I could get you to take care of him?" she asked. The nurse, only slightly older than Mike himself, gave him a once-over and smiled flirtatiously.

"Oh, of course, Mrs. Ross, anything for such a handsome young man. He'll have to lose some layers, though," she said coyly, eyes sparkling with good humor. Mike sent his Grammy a censorious look when she looked the nurse over speculatively. He returned his attention to the nurse and she winked at him, grinning at their exchange.

"Let me go get a cart," she told him. As she walked out of the room she put a little extra swing in her hips and Mike shook his head, amused. He looked to his grandmother to find a thoughtful expression on her face, and a shot of instinctual fear raced up his spine. His Grams was devious, and those expressions rarely boded well for his peace of mind.

She had never pushed for him to settle down, not only because of his youth and finances, but because the thought of something happening to Mike – her Mike – leaving his children bereft terrified her. Her health was in serious decline and she knew it; there would be nothing she could do to shield them from the system.

It hadn't occurred to her before, but the way Mike spoke of Harvey, the way his life had been consumed by this man's influence was the most emotion she'd seen her grandson display towards anyone other than Trevor and his parents. There were subtle differences between those relationships and this one; the balance between Trevor and Mike was parasitic at best by the end, and Mike had a very troubled connection with his parents before their deaths. Due to his memory Mike had felt very superior to all those around him, including his parents, and it hadn't made raising him easy on them. Lord, especially for her son, who despite all his best attributes liked to be in firm control of every aspect of his life. To have a son who so blatantly disrespected him had been a great thorn in his side. Losing them had effected a change in Mike, destroying his self-confidence and making him clingy and almost subservient for many years. One of the reasons things had become so bad with Trevor was the reversal of their established roles made him feel empowered after being brow-beaten by Mike on a near daily basis. With maturity her grandson had regained a feeling of intellectual superiority, with the glaring difference that now he did his best to hide it from those that mattered.

This thing with Harvey, though – the man was Mike's boss, but the way Mike spoke about him told her that Mike felt like his equal. Not only that, but Mike valued his opinion and went to great lengths not to disappoint him. She'd never seen him like that with a woman; he either treated them like something to be conquered or like they were only almost an equal.

Maybe there was something more to his feelings for Harvey than just a mentor or someone to be admired. She focused on Mike once again and rubbed the hand she was still holding on to. He wet his lips nervously and she let a smile curve her mouth, knowing Mike too well to miss the effect her wool-gathering had on him.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" His eyes widened and she did her best not to laugh, reading the internal groan of horror on his face. "I'm a very progressive and open-minded woman, I promise I won't be surprised. You know they're teaching me to use the computer and there are some very informative websites –"

"Whoa, whoa, Grammy!" Mike blurted, throwing both hands up to ward her off. She laughed and clapped her hands together. The nurse chose that moment to push the cart clattering into the room, taking in the scene with a grin.

"I missed something good? Shucks!" Susan closed the door behind her and eyed Mike predatorily. "Are you going to give me a show to make it up to me?"

Mike gaped, scandalized, but his grandmother laughed delightedly. He turned to his Grammy incredulously.

"I'm so glad my humiliation entertains you," he said pointedly, and she waved a dismissive hand.

"How did I raise such a prude?" she sniffed. His mouth quirked and he shared a conspiratorial look with Susan.

"Oh, if that's how you want to play it," Mike said. He stood and showily reached for his belt, slowly undoing it and drawing it through his belt loops. His Grammy gasped and smacked at his hip.

"Michael! Get out of here, go in the bathroom, shoo!" she ordered and Mike laughed.

"Who's the prude now?" he called over his shoulder as he and Susan disappeared into the bathroom.

 

oOo

 

Mike was patting his pockets to make sure he had everything he'd brought with him when his Gram motioned for him to come sit on the bed. She was on the edge of sleep already, her meds and the excitement of Mike's visit having tired her out, but she needed to say her piece. He settled in next to her and took the hand she'd held out for him.

"Now listen to me, Michael. You can not rationalize this," she told him intently. "This was no one's fault but the driver's, and you did the best you could in a horrible situation. I don't want you beating yourself up about this, do you hear me?"

Mike simply nodded, throat tight around some unnameable emotion, and leaned forward to drop a kiss on her cheek.

"Thanks, Grammy," he whispered, voice choked. She patted his hand and fixed him with a serious look.

"I expect a phone call, young man. Don't forget." Mike chuckled and made for the door.

"Night, Grammy."

 

oOo

 

The day dawned bright and cold, the bite of the chill air reminding tourists and New Yorkers alike that New York City was a stern mistress in the winter months. Mike was simply grateful for the opportunity to crack out his coat – it would do a better job of hiding the bandages from Harvey than his flimsy suit jacket.

He stepped off the elevator and sneaked surreptitiously to his desk, keeping a sharp eye out for Harvey or Donna while he stripped off his jacket. A hand gripped his shoulder from behind and he nearly leaped out of his skin, freezing in place.

"Good morning, Mike," Louis said, letting go to slap his back once before moving into Mike's view. Mike did his best to ignore the supercilious look on Louis' face, not particularly in the mood to get fired for assaulting a partner. He forced a tight, polite smile and sat in his chair.

"Morning," he replied. Louis looked at him with consideration, then twitched his neck in discomfort. A truly hideous smile contorted his mouth, displaying his tightly gritted teeth.

"How. Are. You?" he forced out, and Mike didn't bother to stifle his surprise.

"Uh, Louis, I appreciate the effort, but I'm –" Mike stopped when Louis blew a gusty sigh and relaxed, looking to the ceiling in relief.

"Oh, thank God." He tossed a card on Mike's desk. "Conference room 7, I need those briefs proofed ASAP."

Mike smiled genuinely and Louis stalled, blinking in confusion. He help up a finger and made an abortive attempt at speaking before his brain kicked into gear again.

"Wait, you're not going to –? Huh," Louis closed his mouth and squinted. "Are you sure you're –?"

Mike lifted his eyebrows and Louis recovered, tugging at his cuffs.

"You know what? Never mind." He patted the cubicle wall twice and left towards his office.

Mike was frankly relieved to be out from Harvey's notice for a time. Word that he'd been dumped on by Louis would get back to Donna and therefore Harvey, and with Harvey so clearly concerned, Mike would get a few blissful hours of peace and quiet away from the rest of the firm. There were worse things to do than the mindless song and dance of proofing.

True to Mike's expectations, he saw neither hide nor tail of Harvey until lunch rolled around. Unfortunately, that had given him enough time to relax and roll up his sleeves, leaving the most obvious of the new bandages in plain sight when Harvey finally did seek him out. Mike didn't notice when he appeared in the doorway and stopped to look him over. His eyes zeroed in on Mike's hand and he stalked over to grab him by the forearm and get a closer look, shocking Mike out of his paperwork stupor.

"What the hell –" he started, tensing when he saw it was Harvey. "Harvey! Uh, is something wrong?"

"Cut the bull, I know you know better than that. What happened?" Harvey kept his hold on Mike's arm to keep him from turning back to the files to avoid having to face him as he answered.

"Nothing happened, I just crashed my bike last night. Bad luck," Mike said testily. Harvey looked carefully for any hint of a lie in Mike's face and found only pissy defiance; he forcibly relaxed and peeled his hand from its grip.

"Right," he said slowly, and switched to looking over the boxes. "This is all the work Louis wants?"

Mike nodded and leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, I think I'm almost done. Was there something you needed?" Mike asked, pointedly reminding Harvey of his purpose in barging into his fortress of sanctitude.

"We have a new case. I need you to find a few precedents, I want this argument to be rock solid. The judge we pulled is not one of my biggest fans," he said, and Mike's interest piqued.

"You don't mean like that Judge Pearl guy?" Mike asked, and Harvey shook his head with a smirk.

"Not quite. This one just takes a little more effort to convince." He waved a hand at all the boxes. "I hope you weren't too attached to the idea of getting any sleep tonight, because you're going to be here late."

Mike groaned and threw his head back, rubbing his face vigorously with both hands, highlighter still held in the crook of one finger.

"When's the trial?" Mike asked, and Harvey's smirk widened.

"The day after tomorrow."

Mike pulled his hands away and blinked blankly at the ceiling.

"Wait. Why am I doing this tonight, then?" He shifted his puzzled, wary gaze to Harvey.

"Because I said so," Harvey told him with amusement. Mike just rolled his eyes. "Come see me when you're done with all this and I'll give you the file."

He turned to leave, laughing when Mike called out, "That line only works for soccer moms, you can do better!"

 

oOo

 

That evening found Rachel and Mike hard at work in the stacks, looking for a precedent in one of Harvey's cases. Harvey had apparently decided that if Mike was so determined to work, he'd damn well earn his pay. Mike secretly thought Harvey was miffed over him getting to work on time that morning.

"Mr. Specter can be very petty sometimes, can't he?"

Or maybe not so secretly. Mike sighed.

"Let's talk about something else, the man's practically psychic. He'll show up at the worst possible moment and I'll never hear the end of it."

Rachel shrugged and opened another book. They ate their pizza in silence for a while before she suddenly jumped, chair legs scraping loudly against the floor and startling Mike into looking up. A triumphant grin was spread wide across her lips, and he felt an echoing curl form on his own.

"I found it!" Her eyes sparkled as she flipped the book around and pointed out the relevant passage. "Right here, it says -"

She stopped, puzzled, when she belatedly noticed Mike's breath condensing in the suddenly frigid air. They shared a look of consternation, then slowly stood, lights flickering all around the vast room.

"What the heck?" Rachel asked, glancing towards the hall housing the thermostat. No one was there.

"Hello?" Mike called out. A high-pitched cracking emanated from the glass windows. Rachel rounded towards the noise when it crescendoed with a great crash and shrieked when she realized the shattered glass was floating in midair.

"What the hell is going on? What the hell!" she cried frantically, backing around to Mike's side of the table. Unable to look away from the threat, she cast her hand around behind her for Mike, who grabbed her hand and pulled her slightly behind him instead of answering. The glass started to swirl and Rachel buried her fingers in his shirt sleeve, tears springing to her eyes unbidden.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she chanted, voice speeding up and rising in frequency as the light reflecting off the glass danced across the room. Mike swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth, eyes stretching impossibly wide.

All at once, the glass stopped. It hung there in the air, motionless for an endless moment, before flying straight at them.

"Rachel!" Mike yelled, tugging her into his arms and throwing himself onto the floor. He curled his body around hers as best he could, hoping to protect her from at least some of the shards. She sobbed uncontrollably as the glass whipped around them, opening small cuts anywhere it could reach. Mike gritted his teeth against the pain and squeezed his arms tighter around her.

The glass fell out of the air with no warning, some pieces bouncing harmlessly off their clothes, others slicing or burying themselves into any exposed flesh. Mike heard a familiar voice swear loudly and the reverberation of approaching feet.

"What the hell happened here?" Harvey exclaimed, coming around the edge of the table at last. He took one cursory look at their entwined forms, surrounded by glass, before pulling out his phone and dialing 911. Mike let his boss's deceptively calm tones wash over him as he pulled slightly away from Rachel to look her in the face.

"You okay?" he asked, surprised to find his voice was steady. She looked at him like he was crazy.

"No," she said, voice shaking. "I most definitely am not. What the hell just happened?"

Mike shook his head, completely at a loss himself. He slowly sat up, cuts everywhere stinging viciously. Something tickled below his right eye and he gently reached up to touch it. His fingers came away wet with blood, so he carefully wiped at his cheek with the side of his hand. Beside him, Rachel had climbed to her feet and was shaking out her clothes with trembling hands. Harvey wandered back into his line of sight and offered him a hand up. As soon as he'd regained his feet, Harvey grabbed his chin and turned his cheek into the light.

"Doesn't look too bad," he said. His voice was hushed, worried. Mike glanced away, uncomfortable with seeing the gentler side of Harvey not just once, but three times in such a short time. The weight of Harvey's gaze lifted and he backed away as Harvey looked Rachel over for serious injuries.

"Since both of you seem to be okay, how about letting me in on the details?"

Rachel opened her mouth as if to answer, but closed it when she couldn't find the words. Mike piped up with the only possible answer.

"No idea." Harvey gave him a lizard stare, so he embellished the simple statement. "It got really cold, the lights flickered, and then the glass attacked us. I have no idea what's going on here."

"Well. That's not crazy at all." Mike shrugged. Harvey sighed, aggravated at the non-answer. "Let's go meet the paramedics downstairs."

Rachel moved willingly toward the door, but Mike balked at the simple suggestion. The wheels in Harvey's head started turning; two refusals was the beginning of a pattern.

"Something wrong, Mike?" Harvey asked knowingly. Mike shiftily avoided his gaze.

"It's not worth it, they're just some tiny cuts. A pair of tweezers and some band-aids and I'm good as new."

Harvey sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Look, I'm not in the mood to fight about this right now. You and I are going to have a talk about this, but for now I'll help clean you up. Again." Harvey directed his words towards Rachel. "Go on ahead, tell them he doesn't want treatment. Take tomorrow off."

She hesitated until Harvey jerked his head at the door, then slowly exited the room. Once she was safely out of earshot, Harvey took closer stock of Mike. He looked even more battered than he had that morning, if that was at all possible, and three suits ruined in two days would be a hard pill for him to swallow. Judging by his skittish expression, he was liable to disappear for the night if Harvey didn't rein him in.

Decision made, Harvey grabbed Mike by the wrist and hauled him towards the cubicle farm. He made for such a pathetic sight right now that Harvey wasn't totally comfortable with him running off just yet.

"Whoa! Harvey?" Mike exclaimed, stumbling before regaining his feet. Harvey ignored him and kept walking.

"Uh, okay," Mike said, choosing to go with the flow. When they reached Mike's desk Harvey maneuvered him into his chair and shoved it into place.

"Stay here, I'll be back in twenty minutes. I have to go explain to Jessica how I don't know what happened to a couple hundred panes of glass."

Mike just watched as he stormed away, bemused.

Mike stared blankly at his computer screen, Harvey's footsteps having long since faded from his hearing. He'd told Harvey that he had no idea what had happened, but that wasn't quite the truth. He did have an idea, it was just so patently ridiculous that he could barely stand to admit to himself that he'd come up with it, let alone suggest it to Harvey fucking Specter. It's not like there was a plethora of explanations for flying glass.

He took his mouse in hand, still debating if he really wanted to go looking this type of thing up, especially on his work computer. Imagine if one of the other associates found this in his search history; he'd never live it down. Not owning a personal computer ultimately left him with no other choice – he wouldn't be caught dead doing a search like this on the computer he'd (stolen) won from Benjamin in IT. Irritated with himself for being indecisive, he stopped thinking about it and just acted; he had less than twenty minutes left, anyway. If he didn't like what he saw in that time he'd simply give up on the notion, as he already should have.

He opened Google and clicked on the search bar. Temporarily stumped, he wondered how the hell he was supposed to go about looking up, 'Today some glass up and jumped my ass. Am I being haunted?' He glanced up to make sure Harvey wasn't approaching, then punched in 'ghosts attacking people.' The search came up with a ton of hits, as expected, and he nervously scrolled down the dauntingly large list. There were a lot of unusual hits, but... there it was. His eyes honed in on a forum thread titled Testimonials on a website called – , really? Mike tore his incredulous gaze from the screen to check again for any sign of Harvey before clicking on the link. The depths he was sinking to were a new record, even for him, he reflected disgustedly.

As soon as the page loaded, an ad popped up and cheesy music came blaring through his speakers. Mike scrambled to shut them off, terrified at the prospect of Harvey and Jessica descending upon him like wrathful gods over his misuse of company property. Blissful quiet fell when he managed to hit the power button, and he froze, ears perked for any sign his bosses had heard. After a few minutes of silence he figured he was safe and turned back to his monitor. The ad had disappeared after playing through, so he scanned the page for the testimonials thread. He scoffed at many of the various discussion titles; most of them were ridiculous and obviously posted by teenagers.

When his eyes lit on the thread he wanted, he felt slightly encouraged by the lack of stupid usernames. He followed the link and quickly browsed for any likely candidates, suddenly very aware of his waning time frame. People were claiming to have been saved from everything from a wendigo to Bloody Mary, but there was one woman that stuck out as almost credible. She said her house had been cured of a haunting by two very tall and intimidating young men and an older woman who was psychic. In fact, on further examination it seemed that most of these testimonials had claims of a pair of young men showing up in an old Impala and saving the day before driving off into the proverbial sunset. The cynical thought that these men were probably cons setting up these paranormal events was interrupted by Harvey's voice emanating from directly behind him.

"What on Earth are you looking at?" Harvey's cultured tones almost sent Mike reeling from his chair, so badly was he startled. Mike mashed at the red close button in a panic, heart trying to beat right out of his chest.

"Harvey!" He laughed nervously and checked his watch. "It's been twenty minutes already? Time sure does – "

"Save it," Harvey interrupted, repressed smile making him appear almost affectionate. "We're going."

Relieved at the lack of chastisement, Mike grabbed his bag and silently followed Harvey out.

 

oOo

 

The bartender placed their drinks on the table and moved on quickly. Harvey let his gaze bore into Mike, hoping he could force some sane answers to exist by sheer force of will. Admittedly, it was very hard to keep a straight face when every visible inch of Mike's skin was peppered with band-aids.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Harvey?" The question was quiet enough that Harvey was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard it, but he was too realistic for that. This must be why Mike had been looking at that absurd website earlier. He exhaled deeply, debating his reply.

"That would require some belief in the after life." He lifted his glass and swirled the amber liquid while he chose his words carefully. "I'm not so arrogant, or foolish, as to think I know whether they're real."

Mike took a deep swallow off his beer. Harvey wistfully wished for the return of their easy, flirtatious exchanges.

"That's the only explanation I can think of. It has to be Aaron that attacked me. His death was my -" Mike started, but Harvey cut him off.

"Shut up. I know you heard me earlier." He stared into space thoughtfully. "Maybe there was a freak A/C accident?"

Mike gave him a dirty look and Harvey chuffed.

"See, right now you're getting it," he said, smirking. Mike groaned in disgust and desperately gulped his beer. Harvey took the chance to reflect on the insanity of their conversation.

"Maybe there's something in the water and the three of us imagined the whole thing," Mike suggested, thoughts apparently falling in line with Harvey's. He poked his own cheek to test the validity of his assertion. Nope, the cut still hurt, if the grimace he made was any indication.

"Let's sleep on it. Maybe we're still under the influence." Mike nodded sagely at this suggestion, like it was an old Chinese proverb. They finished their drinks in companionable silence, Harvey ruminating on the new asshole Jessica had torn him, and Mike trying not to think at all. On the other side of the partition by their table, a pair of young men dressed in well-worn clothes exchanged a meaningful glance.

Harvey steered Mike toward the door before he could flag down a waiter for another beer. He stuck him in a cab and tossed more than enough money to cover the fare at the driver. The cab pulled away from the curb, allowing Harvey a clear view of a gorgeous 1960's Impala parked across the street. He admired it for a few moments before waving over his own cab; this late at night he wouldn't bother Ray for a ride. Harvey watched a couple of good-looking men approach the classic car with no small amount of jealousy as he told the cabbie his destination.


	3. Three

A day passed in relative silence. If Harvey kept Mike closer than normal, well... Harvey was man enough to admit to himself that his emotions ran deeper than he let on, and that he already felt pretty deeply about Mike. He wouldn't face down armed thugs for just anyone. After all, he had a reputation to maintain.

Still, it wasn't until a good-looking man bumped into Mike and his Walkman wailed that Harvey started to realize anything strange was going on. The guy was vaguely familiar, and Harvey tried to place him as he apologized profusely to Mike. The man was wearing a cheap suit, so he probably wasn't a client. Harvey was about to dismiss him as a pedestrian he had seen before when he noticed a sleek black gem of American engineering trying to appear inconspicuous in a sea of cabs. He flashed on the night before and realized this man was at the bar, and also the owner of that car. He gave the encounter no more thought until he and Mike exited the car at the court house and he noticed the Impala, again.

A few more trips around the city and he was sure that he was being tailed. The most likely explanation was an opponent siccing a private investigator on him to dig up some dirt, which wouldn't be a first. It was unusual for a PI to drive such an obvious vehicle, but stranger things had happened (like the flying glass in the stacks.)

He almost had himself convinced that that was the case, until he watched the car park in front of Mike's apartment building as Ray started the drive to his condo. Harvey immediately ordered Ray to turn around and go back. The two men were still sitting in the car when Harvey jumped out and raced up to Mike's apartment. Harvey knocked sedately, knowing that him being freaked out would only exacerbate Mike's reaction for no reason. Well, no reason yet. Ray would call him if they made a move. The door swung open and Harvey pulled a face.

"God, it's even worse inside." Mike slammed the door in his face. Harvey knocked again.

"Why the hell are you here?" Mike called through the door. "Is insulting me at work no longer enough for you?"

"Let me in." A thud resounded through the door like Mike had bashed his head against it, but he did open the door. Harvey stepped in and closed and locked it behind him. Mike crossed his arms and glared.

"We're not at work, you can't boss me around."

Harvey waited a moment, then said, "See how I didn't dignify that with a response?" Mike growled and scrubbed his hands through his hair, then flopped down onto the couch.

"God, why the hell are you here?" he groaned. "You were supposed to go home and let me sleep!"

Harvey sobered and went to a window to check for the Impala. It was still there, and that killed the PI theory. Any decent PI would have taken off when he came back in such a hurry, or at least gotten out of their car and found a place to hide from view so it seemed like a coincidence. They had to be after Mike. He grew angry at the thought of it being because of Trevor again.

"A car has been following us since yesterday night. I thought it was for me, but it's not," he said as he moved away from the window. Mike gazed at him with apprehension, then went to the window to see what Harvey was looking at. He hadn't noticed anyone following them, but his thoughts had been preoccupied with memories of the stress of the day before. His eyes landed on a vintage vehicle parked across the street and he realized he had, in fact, seen it several times around the city that day. He turned to speak to Harvey, but was immediately derailed by the repressed grin twisting Harvey's mouth. He glared at him suspiciously.

"What now?" Harvey looked at him, then deliberately back to what had caught his attention. It was the doll Joy had given him, sitting on prominent display. Mike slapped a hand against his forehead and dragged it down his face, stretching the skin.

"You really are the doll playing type," Harvey said, eyes crinkling as he finally let the grin out to play. Mike snorted, too far off his game to formulate an appropriately scathing response. He walked to the fridge and reached for a beer, but Harvey's voice stopped him.

"Don't bother. You're packing a bag and coming back to my place tonight, and you're not going to argue." Mike slammed the refrigerator door closed and backed himself against it.

"Any other commands, Master?" Mike snidely asked. When his impudence only amused Harvey further he disgustedly pushed away from the fridge and disappeared into his bedroom to comply. He was far too tired to put up a fight about this.

Harvey wandered around the front room looking at the various decorations. It was incredibly obvious that this apartment was owned by a twenty-something year old bachelor. He propped himself against the bedroom's door jamb and lazily regarded Mike sorting through his laundry for something clean to wear. Mike held a ratty old pair of jeans up to check for stains. Slowly, he let his arms fall and bowed his head.

"Do you think they're here because of Trevor?" He sounded very subdued, almost hurt, like this wouldn't just be another betrayal in a long litany of betrayals. "Is this really happening again, after all I've done for him?"

Mike looked to Harvey imploringly, wanting him to say that it wasn't Trevor's fault, that one of their clients was really a mob boss – but Harvey couldn't. It may be what Mike wanted to hear, but it wasn't what he needed, and Harvey always – always – gave Mike what he needed.

"This is what I've been telling you all along. As long as he's in your life, or for that matter, you're in his, this will never stop. He can clean himself up and make it look good, but as soon as things get rough, he'll do what all addicts do; he'll fall right back into his old patterns and try to drag you down with him so that he feels better about failing."

Mike opened his mouth to interject, but Harvey just spoke louder.

"It's not just your career that he endangers, it's your life. These men are stalking you, Mike, and that never ends well. This is the only way you can expect things to be between you. Now you said that it was time you started relying on me, and that means taking my advice. Tell him to get lost."

Mike sighed and collapsed onto the edge of his bed, like his strings had been cut.

"It's just not that easy."

Harvey took a few steps into the room and grabbed up a relatively wrinkle-free suit jacket.

"It's easier than you're making it," he said, not unkindly now that he'd made his point. "He's not the only guy in your corner anymore, Mike. You come to me."

Mike rested his head on his hand and sighed. Harvey sat down beside him and gripped the back of Mike's neck.

"When did my life get so crazy? Why is everything going so wrong?"

Harvey, ever the pragmatist, didn't allow Mike to wallow in self-pity any longer. You were supposed to learn the lesson and move on, not stall. That would only bring you crashing down.

"You sure it's not you that's crazy? Because I'm obviously too good to be true."

Mike glared, and Harvey knew he was trying to kill him with his brain. He clapped Mike on the back and threw the jacket in his lap.

"Hurry it up. We don't know for sure who these guys are or what they want; they could make a move any moment."

Mike nodded, grabbed the nearest clothes and threw them in a duffel without bothering to check them over. There were no ties anywhere to be seen, so Harvey wandered back out to the main room, assuming it would take a while. He peered out the blinds to find the car still there, its occupants still inside. Harvey hoped it was his presence that was keeping them out, but he couldn't be sure. They were behaving very oddly for a pair of violent criminals, and Harvey didn't like that at all. It was almost as odd a choice of vehicle for a goon as it was for a PI; a cop's eye would be drawn to one so rare. Movement in his peripheral drew his attention to Mike as he left his bedroom, tie clutched in one hand. Harvey curled his lip.

"Different tie. Bring something that hideous into my home and I'll burn it." He paused. "On second thought, bring the tie."

Mike fake-laughed and shot him a 'you're so funny' look, sorely tempted to throw the tie at Harvey. Spying a different tie snagged on his entertainment center, he grabbed it and looked around for anything else he'd need. Nothing jumped out at him from the living room, so he moved into the bathroom.

He was leaning over the tub to grab the soap when the door slammed shut behind him.

He whirled around, eyes wide, to find frost spreading over the mirror above the sink, obscuring the view of the room. His breath heaved in his chest as he scanned for objects that could be used as weapons, the glass from yesterday still fresh in his mind. His eyes shot back to the mirror when a small crack splintered its surface. He stepped over the edge and into the tub, backing up slowly until his back was against the tile wall.

His breath stopped altogether as the crack spread, slowly and deliberately. He couldn't look away or call for Harvey, the only bright spot in his awareness that of the soft noise accompanying each growth of that crack. The glass, once free of its frame, spun in the air. It feinted forward and back, notching Mike's heartbeat up with every pass. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and he finally broke free of the terror long enough to glance at the door and open his mouth to yell for Harvey. One shard darted out from the rest and cozied up to his neck, killing the cry in his throat. His heart thudded in his chest and he swallowed against a dry mouth, blinking rapidly.

The glass moved against his throat, opening a shallow cut as it dragged from one side to the other. The implication was very clear, and Mike's breath caught, eyes moistening. Was this really going to happen with Harvey less than thirty feet away? The remaining glass by the mirror danced closer, coming to a stop less than a foot away. The piece still resting against his throat shifted so just one tip was resting against his skin while another approached his face, coming so close to his eye that he had to turn his head to escape it. One by one, the rest of the shards imbedded themselves in his clothes, outlining his arms and legs. The one by his eye grazed his cheek from cheekbone to chin, the motion reminiscent of someone tracing a finger down his cheek.

He tried again to yell for Harvey, but the tip of the shard at his throat dug in hard enough that he could feel a trickle of blood trail onto his collar. He squeezed his eyes shut with despair, the certainty that he was going to die opening a yawning hole in his chest.

A clicking from the doorknob brought all movement from the glass to a halt, and Mike's heart skipped a beat in relief. Harvey tapped on the door a couple of times.

"Mike?" He pitched his voice low, worried at the exorbitant length of time Mike had spent in the restroom. When no response was immediately forthcoming, he opened the door a crack to peek inside. He didn't see any sign of Mike through the narrow view, so he swung the door wider.

"Mike?" he tried again.

He quickly spotted Mike trapped against the shower wall by – was that glass floating? He took a cautious step forward and the glass dropped, shattering on impact with the ceramic of the tub. Mike sucked in a great gasp of air, eyes wild and hands shaking as he clapped one to his throat. With no ready alternatives in sight, Harvey tore some toilet paper from the roll to staunch the bleeding of the cut on Mike's cheek.

Mike was breathing like he'd just run a marathon, and Harvey was wondering how much longer his legs would hold him. He reached for the duffel and practically had to pry it loose from Mike's iron grip. He swiped a foot over the glass to clear a path for Mike's sock-clad feet, then took him gently by the wrist to guide him to sit on the toilet seat. Shards of glass came loose from his clothes, raining down around him as he carefully stepped over the lip of the tub. Mike shook him off so he could put the lid down before sitting, and Harvey ripped off some more toilet paper for the wound on Mike's neck.

Harvey knelt before Mike to examine the severity of the cuts, mind refusing to wrap itself around what he had just seen. They weren't too bad, the one on his cheek worse than the relatively small wound at his neck, but they were both too large for a band-aid. He opened the cabinet under the sink and found a fully stocked first-aid kit. He lifted an eyebrow at Mike, who just shrugged in reply. He pulled out some gauze pads, a roll of gauze, medical tape and some Neosporin. The cut on Mike's cheek was the easier of the two to cover, so he dealt with it first. Mike leaned forward on his elbows and tilted his head to grant easier access, but kept one hand clenched compulsively around his throat. He closed his eyes to avoid looking at Harvey, shaken to the core after the events of the last few days and embarrassed at his own emoting. When he'd finished taping the bandage in place, Harvey leaned back on his heels and sighed. He knew what he had to do.

He stood abruptly and gripped Mike's shoulders, tugging at him until he got up. Harvey stared straight into Mike's startled eyes to make sure it wasn't a bad idea before throwing caution to the wind and wrapping him in a hug. Mike froze, like a deer suddenly face to face with a predator. His one arm was still trapped between the two of them, but the other hesitantly rose to fold around Harvey, coming to rest over his shoulder blade. Harvey patiently waited until Mike relaxed and let his head rest against Harvey's shoulder before using one arm to force Mike's hand away from his throat. Mike got the point and wrapped that arm around Harvey as well, making him wince internally at the thought of blood stains on one of his suits. He held Mike for a few minutes more, knowing this was a far greater boon than words for someone as tactile as his associate while under so much stress. Mike pulled away first, realizing how kind Harvey was being and choosing to appreciate it by making Harvey no more uncomfortable than was unavoidable. Harvey cleared his throat awkwardly and pointed at Mike imperiously.

"Stay," he said, using the same tone he'd use on a well-trained dog. Mike smirked at him good-naturedly.

"Woof."

Harvey rolled his eyes, a smile curling the corners of his mouth, and reached down for the antibiotic ointment.

"Did I tell you to speak? Shame."

Harvey stood leaning against the counter, watching as Mike zipped his duffel closed. After seeing the tableau in the bathroom, he was uncomfortably aware of their conversation in the bar the other night. At the time he'd laid the thought aside, unable to accept it as a valid option despite the lack of reasonable (and sane) alternatives. Now, though? Maybe Mike had a point.

Mike walked to the center of the room and just stood in place, a distant look on his face. Harvey considered him for a moment before going to take the bag from his lax grip. His associate refocused on him and firmed his expression.

"I guess I'm ready to go," Mike said, taking a last look around.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it'll all be here when you get back. I doubt even a hobo would want any of this crap," Harvey told him, smirking when Mike bristled.

"Excuse me for liking things that you don't have to sell a kidney just to afford."

Harvey laughed from deep in his gut, reveling in both the rare feeling and Mike's look of smug surprise. It wasn't often that something made him laugh that hard, and it felt good to let off some of the tension of the evening. Harvey placed a hand at the base of Mike's spine and gently nudged him towards the door.

"Come on, Einstein. You'll change your tune when your body cries in relief at the opulence of my sheets and refuses to leave," he said, laughing again when Mike flushed slightly at the mention of his sheets. The kid truly had a dirty mind.


	4. Four

As Harvey unlocked his front door, Mike was hit by a feeling of trepidation. The last time he'd been here Harvey had been unprecedentedly hostile, and now that Mike was sober enough to appreciate that, he was both curious and filled with dread. He didn't have time to dwell, thankfully, as Harvey quickly ushered him inside.

Mike stood near the couch, ill at ease, duffel held almost defensively before him while Harvey disappeared down the hall. The awkwardness of the situation didn't do much to dampen Mike's curiosity and he drank in as many details of the room as he could while Harvey wasn't around to notice.

The apartment was much like Harvey himself – cold and austere on the surface, all style and smooth polish, with a hidden quirky side right below the surface, just waiting to come out. The cabinets housing DVDs and books held titles you would never expect Harvey the Lawyer to enjoy, and many of the books were well-loved with dog ears and creased spines. A colorful handmade blanket peeked out from under a corner of the couch; Mike wondered if it was an old girlfriend or a relative that had given it to Harvey, that Harvey had kept it and obviously used it.

Mike quickly diverted his eyes when he heard Harvey padding softly back down the hall. When Harvey cleared the corner, his eyes laid on the bag still in Mike's hands and he quirked an eyebrow.

"After your last little house call I wouldn't have thought I'd need to tell you to make yourself at home," he told Mike pointedly, and Mike felt his ears burn. He glanced toward the hall, the thought of Harvey's condo having a guest room playing through his mind before he decided he wouldn't be that forward. Harvey rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything when he dumped the duffel by the couch.

Various clinks floated out from the kitchen as Mike slowly sank down on the couch, every inch of his throbbing body making itself known. He could still feel a phantom piece of glass pressed against his neck, and the doorknob was right there, the knowledge that Harvey was in reach and all he had to do was call for help and Harvey would be right there to save him, to do anything –

A glass clinked on the table in front of him and he looked up at Harvey, murmuring his thanks. The water went down cold and easy, but he spared a thought to wish for something a little stronger like a nice, stout beer. Mike swirled the liquid in the glass as he fought to find the words he wanted to say.

"Thanks, for all of... this," Mike settled on, waving the hand with the glass in a vague, encompassing gesture. "You didn't have to, and I just... thanks."

Harvey sipped at his scotch, absently staring out the window at the lights of the city below. He dropped his eyes to his fingers on his tumbler, watching the way the amber light refracted through the crystal onto his skin.

"I meant what I said about relying on me, Mike." Harvey made eye contact so Mike could see how sincere he really was. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Mike smiled shyly, a real smile, and Harvey's heart thumped hard in his chest. He started to continue, but the glass table between them shattered, and Harvey watching in horrified disbelief as the couch Mike was sitting on scraped backwards across the floor. He scrambled to get his feet under him only to find the glass had begun to swirl around him in a deadly whirlwind, hemming him in. Mike tried to leap off the couch, but some invisible force shoved him back into the seats.

"Mike!" Harvey cried, nearly frantic, throwing out a hand as if he could reach across the distance and take hold of Mike – just as the couch flipped on its side, flinging Mike the last few feet into the glass.

It shattered on impact and Mike disappeared over the edge without a sound.

Harvey's breath stopped in his chest and a roaring filled his ears – this couldn't be happening, this was his home, it was supposed to be safe here. He watched with wide, uncomprehending eyes as the glass around him slowed to a standstill. The pressure on his heart, on his soul, was one he would gladly never feel again and had already felt too long.

Harvey blinked, took a cautious step forward, and called out for Mike, desperately trying to convince himself that none of this was happening. A bloodied hand swung wildly through the air where Mike had vanished and Harvey broke into a run, ignoring the glass beginning to swirl behind him once again, racing to his goal. He reached the edge and looked out, freezing air curling its fingers through his hair and whipping it into his face, obscuring his view of Mike. He angrily brushed it back, his only focus the vision of Mike dangling over a drop of several hundred feet, tethered to life only by a thin metal rail caught in the back of his pants. Every fear-fraught struggle brought him closer to falling rather than gaining him a hold on the building, and Harvey's mouth went dry.

"Mike! You have to calm down!" he yelled, struggling to be heard over the wind and using the calmest, most commanding tone he could manage under the circumstances. "You're caught up on some metal, fighting it isn't helping! I need you to stop moving so I can figure out how to get you down, okay?"

Mike's terrified eyes found his, and for a moment Harvey wasn't sure he was going to get through to the kid. After a beat, Mike squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could and made an effort to control himself. When Harvey was sure Mike was having some measure of success he allowed himself to look over his shoulder for something, anything, that he could use to hook Mike, and found only the blanket. He turned back to Mike and was reassured that Mike had listened to him and was remaining still, or as still as he could with the wind buffeting him.

"Hang on, I'm going to grab something to help, okay?" Mike nodded jerkily and Harvey rushed to grab the blanket lying by the wreck of the table. Salvation in hand, he turned back to the window only to pull up short, hand spasming tighter on the cloth.

There, halfway between him and Mike, was the flickering image of Aaron.

Harvey didn't have time to truly process what he was seeing before the front door was kicked in and two men – the men who were after Mike – came charging in brandishing shotguns. He ducked instinctively as the shorter man cocked his gun and fired a blast straight at the ghost.

The noise of the shattering glass was overpowering as Harvey looked around for Aaron, or whatever it was he'd seen. The taller man took a step towards Harvey, glass crunching beneath his heel, and Harvey focused on him warily. Mike was out of sight, and he had no way of knowing if they'd seen him go out the window. The whole situation was spiraling quickly out of his control.

Why weren't they doing anything now? Why would they shoot at the... apparition or whatever the hell that had been instead of Harvey? He forced himself to tamp down his emotions and put up a front. For now he was simply going to assess the situation, not bring any attention to Mike's plight, and hope that his cheap pants would hold.

The taller man (and he truly was tall; Harvey was by no means a small man and he was left feeling a little inadequate) held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, shotgun dangling from one hand, and took another slow step forward.

"We're here to help," he said, hazel eyes compassionate and entreating. "I know this all seems crazy and you want an explanation, but right now we don't have time." He pointed at the window with a few fingers on his gun hand.

"Your friend out there is in a pretty precarious position, and the ghost won't be gone for long." The shorter man spoke up, and Harvey suppressed a wave of irritation at the patronizing tone; he had at least ten years on this kid and here he was treating Harvey like a frightened child? He was careful not to let any of it show on his face; patronizing tone or not, the balance of power was definitely tilted in their favor and Harvey wasn't about to complicate an already inconceivably bizarre and volatile situation further. Especially not with a blanket as his only weapon, he thought ruefully.

The man in front took another step forward and Harvey tensed. Yes, they said they were here to help, but being a lawyer had long since taught Harvey not to take things at face value. Dealing with convicts had taught him that psychos were fully capable of thinking they were helping you even while killing you.

"Harvey!" Mike called, voice ragged and terrified. Harvey didn't hesitate, he turned his back on the men and strode to the window; if it was a choice between putting himself in danger and saving Mike, he had to choose his associate. Mike was still dangling, but his pants had torn and his only remaining lifeline was his belt. Harvey quickly knelt and leaned as far over the edge as he dared.

"Mike, I want you to grab the blanket! I'm going to pull you towards me so I can grab you and pull you in," he yelled. Mike gave a small nod, limbs stiff as though he felt any movement would send him tumbling down. Harvey twisted the blanket, ignoring the crunching of glass behind him – if they wanted to do something they'd do it, and there was nothing he could do. He tossed one end at Mike and Mike strained to grab it, but missed. His belt buckled a fraction under the strain, the leather cracking and exposing the tightly-woven fabric center.

Mike's face went white as a sheet and he gasped for air, dangerously close to hyperventilating. Harvey took a shaky breath and twisted the blanket again, looking Mike square in the eyes and giving him a small nod as he did. He tossed the blanket again and this time Mike caught it in one hand. Mike clutched at it and Harvey gently drew it in hand over hand, pulling Mike's arms closer. Mike let go of the blanket with one hand to stretch towards Harvey, and Harvey reached back, elation and relief swelling in his chest.

Their fingers brushed, and Mike's belt gave completely. Harvey seized Mike's wrist, the sudden extra weight yanking him most of the way over the edge, clinging to safety with one arm and leg. His foot scraped uselessly against the floor as he slipped further and he gripped the window's frame, trying with all his strength to stop their slide. His shoulder burned and he grit his teeth, tightening his awkward hold on Mike and ignoring the cramping already starting in his palms. The fear-sweat forming on his skin slicked his hand to the point that he knew his fragile grip wouldn't hold much longer. He was looking down at Mike, preparing to use the last of his leverage to haul him up level with him when his grip on the building gave out and he slipped entirely over the edge.

For an endless moment he was falling, hand squeezing on Mike's wrist convulsively, before he came to an abrupt stop. Pain exploded in his shoulder and he cried out, the sickening sensation of something giving way in his flesh raising his gorge. He felt Mike's other hand close around his wrist and heard him breathlessly call his name. Harvey didn't even realize his eyes were closed until whoever had grabbed him started to pull him back to safety and he saw red whorls swooping frenetically on the inside of his eyelids. He opened his eyes, the image making him sick to his stomach, and was greeted by the taller man's face close to his own, red with strain and teeth bared. A breath later he and Mike were laying side by side, lower legs dangling over the edge.

Mike twisted his head to look at Harvey, eyes bright with a heady mix of relief and concern. He propped himself on an elbow over Harvey, and Harvey followed Mike's gaze to his shoulder. It was obviously dislocated, misshapen beneath the flimsy barrier of his shirt. Mike hovered one hand over the injury, wanting to asses the damage but disliking the thought of causing Harvey further pain.

A shotgun blast came from just over their heads and they flinched, Harvey's ears ringing as he curled around the renewed pain in his shoulder awakened by the involuntary movement. Mike climbed to his knees, hands over his ears as he disbelievingly took in the scene before him. Harvey's front room was in shambles, and his two stalkers were lining the windows and door with thick lines of – was that salt?

"What the fuck?"

His eyes were drawn past the odd behavior of his stalkers to the other side of the white line, where between one moment and the next, a partially translucent image of Aaron had appeared. Mike blanched, swallowing hard and watching dazedly as one of the men brought up their shotgun and calmly fired. The ghost disappeared and Mike slowly lay back down, nausea roiling in his gut. Next to him Harvey groaned and struggled to sit up, pulling his feet inside so he could turn and watch the invaders in his home.

The two men were watching them with calculation, and Harvey idly wondered if they really had just saved their asses so that they could be the ones to kill them. Either way, there wasn't much he and Mike could do about it. His shoulder was causing him some pretty excruciating pain, and there was a small puddle of blood forming under Mike from the worst of his cuts. What Harvey needed to do was get to a phone to call 911, not cower while these strangers did whatever it was they wanted. Mike suddenly tilted his head back and pointed an accusing finger at the strangers.

"Oh my God! I know who you are," Mike said, oblivious to the way the men's hands tightened on their guns as they shared an unreadable look. Harvey managed, just barely, not to roll his eyes. "I read about you on that Ghostfacers website!"

The shorter man's face contorted, like he'd just tasted something horrible, and the younger let out a relieved, exasperated laugh. Harvey leaned over as far as his shoulder would allow and spoke in a low voice to avoid the men hearing what he had to say.

"Mike, are you okay? Are you traumatized? Is that why you think you know these psychos, you're acting out, crying for help?" he asked, in all seriousness. Possibly the near-death experience was making him loopy. Mike rolled his eyes and shrugged off Harvey's concern.

"After the stacks I Googled ghosts, and a lot of the 'real,'" he framed the word with air quotes, "stories mentioned that two tall, good-looking young men had blasted in and saved the day. Shotguns and all. I mean, there can't be that many people running around dealing with the supernatural that fit that description." Harvey tilted his head, acknowledging the point, and glanced at the men.

"How sure are you that they're not going to carve out our still beating hearts for an ancient ritual?"

"Pretty sure. And I am not Short Round," Mike said sardonically. Mike tried to turn his head to look at the men again and failed, shutting his eyes tightly and lifting a hand to his temple as he staved off a sudden bout of dizziness. Harvey rested a hand on Mike's chest, alarmed enough that he didn't notice the men nearing him until a set of hands appeared to put pressure on the worst of Mike's cuts.

"You have a first aid kit?" the shorter one asked. Harvey nodded, motioning vaguely toward the hall before grabbing his shoulder.

"First door on the right, under the sink." Harvey heard his footsteps crunch away as he looked back at Mike. The taller – and he could tell now, younger – man had ripped the shreds of Mike's shirt all the way open, revealing several deep but probably not life-threatening gashes. Harvey held tighter to his shoulder and grimaced as he scooted over to sit by Mike's head.

"Are you going to refuse the hospital this time, too? Those are pretty bad, Mike."

The man glanced between the two of them, hesitant.

"If it's a problem we can patch him up, we're pretty good at this sort of thing," he offered, and Harvey couldn't help thinking to himself that of course the psycho stalkers would want to avoid any contact with anyone likely to bring cops into the whole thing. Mike was once again oblivious and grinned up at him woozily.

"Yeah, Harvey, they can help me out, see? No problem," Mike said, and Harvey wondered exactly how much blood he'd lost. The other man dropped to his knees on Mike's other side, first aid kit clattering down next to him, already open. He quickly drew his gaze over Mike's wounds and shared a look with his companion before pulling out the necessary tools. Mike eyed the small box with disdain and Harvey smirked at him.

"Not all of us are paranoid enough to keep a whole hospital in our bathrooms," Harvey said, and Mike puffed up, affronted.

"What? You can never be too careful," he said defensively, lifting his head to get a better view of what the men were doing.

"Yes, yes, you can. Pocket protectors."

"Point," Mike said, letting his head thud back against the floor. The younger stranger looked up at him through his bangs, worrying his lip.

"Do you have any pain meds, or anything? We're going to need to stitch him up, and we don't exactly cart around controlled substances," he asked. Harvey shook his head and sent a quelling look to Mike. The kid had damn well better not have any, or they were going to have words.

"All I've got is scotch and some wine," he told them, and the older one flapped a hand at him.

"Scotch, but not too much. We just want to take the edge off. We'll take care of that shoulder in a minute, too."

Harvey managed to stand up, deciding to himself that Mike was going to have some serious extra work in his future for forcing Harvey's invalid self to play Florence Nightingale. Also for ruining his flooring by bleeding too much.

His liquor cabinet actually consisted of the cabinets under the bar dividing the kitchen from the front room rather than a fancy stand alone piece of furniture, and Harvey was thankful that the doors were made of a nice dark wood instead of the glass he tended to go for. The bar had been left essentially untouched in the midst of all the chaos.

Getting into the cabinet was both tricky and painful; he wound up having to kneel to grab the bottle, place it on the counter and then stand back up. Maybe he'd make Mike clean his apartment for a few weeks, giving his cleaning staff a break after the trauma this disaster area was sure to inflict on them. After he'd healed up, of course.

A sudden thought hit Harvey – where the hell was he going to stay? With that glass wall gone, his place was going to be unlivable. He was going to have to hire a crew to come in tomorrow and cover it up before the elements ruined anything.

All of this ran through the back of his mind while his primary focus remained where it belonged, on the two dangerous men in his apartment and the ghost. Immediately after Harvey handed the bottle off to the older one, he uncapped it and lifted Mike's head so he could swig from it. The look on Mike's face at the indescribably strong flavor was priceless (you sipped that scotch for a reason). Harvey briefly mourned the fact that after this he probably wouldn't be able to get Mike to drink that particular brand again. Maybe Mike could become a bourbon man?

Harvey sat back down by Mike's head and smoothed his hair back from his face. Mike had closed his eyes and was breathing shallowly through his mouth, woozy enough not to acknowledge the uncharacteristic gesture. Harvey kept his eyes on Mike's face, unable to stomach the view down below as they started stitching him up. Mike handled the pain admirably well, nothing but a few twitches and the deepening of the lines bracketing his mouth giving him away. Harvey forced himself not to worry about it being because of blood loss, instead chalking it up to the alcohol and the fact that Mike had dealt with a lot of cuts in the past few days. Mike squinted up at Harvey when they were almost done with the stitches.

"I think maybe I should get some health insurance," he said, and Harvey lightly smacked the top of his head.

"Is that what all that was about? Kid, the firm offers insurance, why the hell don't you have it?"

Mike's mouth twitched and he looked away from Harvey, uncomfortable.

"I, uh... IthoughtIdidntneedit," he mumbled, and Harvey quirked an eyebrow. He tapped Mike's forehead so he'd look at him again, and Mike reluctantly met his eyes.

"I thought I didn't need it," he said more clearly, and Harvey let Mike's embarrassment over the horrible decision do his work for him. There would be a better time for that particular conversation.

Mike winced as they tightened the final stitch and began work on treating the less serious wounds. The younger man stood and turned his attention to Harvey.

"If I set that now, it'll hurt less, and it's too dangerous to leave the salt lines. Do you have a sling anywhere?"

Harvey held up a hand to stave him off, ignoring Mike's quiet, "Ha! I knew they were salt lines!"

"What the hell do you mean, it's too dangerous? I don't exactly see anything trying to kill us right now." The older man glanced at him incredulously before looking to his companion as though for permission to slap Harvey down. The younger man gave him an 'I got this' look and faced Harvey again, a pacifying smile curling his lips to match his beseeching puppy eyes.

"Nothing's trying to kill you right now because we put those lines in place. If they get messed up, the ghost will be right back in here to finish what it started." Harvey gave him a lizard stare and Mike nodded like it was the smartest thing he'd ever heard someone say. Harvey tamped down the urge to smack his associate silly since it really wasn't his fault. The guy sucked air through his teeth and grasped for the right words before the older one got tired of waiting, stepped in and took over.

"Look, dude," he started and Harvey bristled internally. "The two of you were in that bar the other night talking about ghosts, and apparently you were right. Now you look like the kind of man that is the best at everything he does, and you gotta understand that when it comes to ghosts and all the crazy stuff like that? Me and my brother here are the best.

"So when we say that you shouldn't disturb those weird lines of salt? You should just take our word for it, sit down, and shut up. We'll take care of this problem for you and then you can go back to living your lives," he finished. Mike was staring up at him with wide eyes from his spot on the floor.

"He hasn't killed you yet," he told the guy, wonderment in his voice. "You must be some kind of bad-ass dude." The man snorted and ignored him, keeping his eyes firmly on Harvey's.

Harvey considered his words, generously ignoring the blatant disrespect. Damn kids these days. He sighed.

"I don't suppose you could tell us exactly why the salt is going to keep a ghost away?" he asked, and the guy glanced at (apparently) his brother with a smug, self-satisfied look.

"I'll leave that for the geek boy. Sling?"

"Same room, there's a closet in there that has some random junk in it," Harvey told him. He cast an appraising eye over the younger brother as the elder walked off, debating whether he trusted him to put the couch back where it belonged. The man followed his gaze to the couch before he'd fully made up his mind and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I'll move your couch if you want to sit down," he said. "Why are yuppies always such a pain? Worse than getting things out of Dean, I swear," he muttered to himself, but he made easy work of the couch as his brother returned with the sling. They didn't say anything, but the sling was handed off and the older one (Dean?) picked Mike up and placed him gently on one half of the couch, leaving his legs dangling off the side so that Harvey would have a place to sit down. He headed to the kitchen and Harvey didn't bother wondering what he was going to do – now that it was about to be fixed his shoulder was making sure its complaints were heard loud and clear.

He sat down carefully, doing his best to ensure that Mike wasn't jarred. He didn't know if the kid had hit his head or if it was just an effect of the blood loss, but he was acting very out of it. Harvey was finding it a little hard to worry with the bizarreness of their situation getting in the way and stealing his attention, but the kid hadn't bled out yet, so that was something.

"What are your names?" Harvey asked the tall one, and he looked up, unsurprised but uneasy about the question.

"I'm Sam, that's Dean," he said after a beat, the lack of last names both obvious and ominous. Harvey felt a headache start in his temples from irritation; this kid was one to talk about yuppies being a pain. He kept his opinions to himself, trusting that his typical poker face would keep him from ticking off the loons on accident. Dean reappeared with a broom and swept away as much of the glass as he could from next to the couch; Sam knelt down and had Harvey arrange himself to his liking before reaching for his arm and doing the deed. Harvey clenched his jaw against the spike of molten agony, but it really was better once popped back into place. He clutched at it protectively, visions of his doctor chewing him out for not immediately going to see him dancing in his head.

Harvey opened his eyes to find that Sam was leaning over Mike, lifting his chin so that he could get a good look at his eyes. Satisfied with whatever it was he'd seen (or not seen, as the case may be), he stepped back and surveyed the apartment. There weren't any chairs left untouched, so he simply brushed away the glass remaining on the table's frame and sat down where he stood. Dean arranged himself against the wall, leaning back in a pseudo casual pose. On the surface they were relaxed, but their tightly wound muscles gave away their nerves.

"We're going to need you to answer a few questions," Sam started. Harvey watched him coolly but didn't say he wouldn't, and that was enough for him to continue.

"You saw the ghost earlier; was it the associate that died in the accident a few days ago?"

"Yes, it was." Harvey wet his lips and glanced at Mike before asking his next question. "Do you know why... he is after Mike?"

"We're not really sure," Sam said, tilting his head. "Usually ghosts hang around because of negative feelings or unfinished business. Did Mike do something to him, or was he jealous of him?"

"He was probably jealous," Harvey said thoughtfully. "The guy wasn't anything special, I couldn't even remember his name. I picked Mike to work for the firm myself, and at least one of the other partners is always paying attention to him."

Harvey wasn't really skeptical of that being a good enough reason to haunt someone – people were petty and emotions were by definition not rational. He'd run into more stupid reasons for murder than he'd have thought possible during his stint as an ADA. Sam didn't seem very surprised either, but if they really went around chasing ghosts then he'd probably seen worse reasons for a haunting. He glanced at Dean, but the man hadn't moved an inch; he was staring intently at Harvey's face, expression a stoic mask.

"Do you know where Aaron's body is being held?" Sam asked, and Harvey looked at him like he was crazy. Which he obviously was, asking questions like that. Sam held his hands up defensively.

"I need to know, and, no, we're not crazy."

Harvey shook his head, for once glad that he didn't know the answer. He didn't want to be a party to whatever it is these two were going to do, just in case they got caught and he needed plausible deniability. Sam watched him like he couldn't decide whether or not Harvey was lying.

"You're sure you don't know?"

"Very sure," Harvey told him. It was probably a good thing that Mike was out of it, he was pretty sure the kid would know. He cared like that. Sam sighed and stood up, hands on his hips as he and his brother shared a look. Dean propelled himself away from the wall and went over to where he'd left their canvas bag of tricks.

"We're going to go take care of the ghost. Can I trust that you're going to stay inside the salt lines? If we're not here to help the two of you could get seriously fucked up," Sam said, and Harvey was suddenly exhausted. Too exhausted to protest, too exhausted to care.

"I have some stuff that has to be done at the office tomorrow, when will you be done?"

"It'll all be over by morning," Sam said, and the confidence in his voice both lifted Harvey's flagging spirits and made him fear for his sanity.

"Yeah, we'll stay." Harvey gathered his thoughts for a moment before continuing.

"Assuming we believe you, what the hell are we supposed to do about this – ghost?"

Dean finally spoke up from his corner.

"Nothing. You don't need to know what we're going to do, but it'll get done. You just go to work tomorrow like normal and make sure to keep your friend here close by."

"Are we – " Harvey began, but Dean interrupted before he could even finish the question.

"No, you won't be seeing us again, so don't do anything stupid."

Sam nodded in agreement and Dean appeared at his shoulder. Harvey closed his eyes and leaned his head back, and when he opened them again the men were gone. He rolled his head to check on Mike and found his eyes slitted open and focused on him.

"How are you doing, Mike?" he asked, and Mike gave a minute shrug.

"Very fuzzy. Everything's all... swimmy," he said, and Harvey snorted. He dropped a hand on Mike's knee and lightly shook it.

"I think you need some sleep. I'm going to trust that you're not going to die on me tonight, all right? You'd better not disappoint me," he told him. Mike scoffed and his eyes slid shut, like it was all he could do to stay awake. It probably was. Harvey looked around and spotted the sling hanging off the table's frame and a couple of salt canisters right next to it on the floor. He caught it up in one hand and put it on, the ceasing of a low-grade pain he hadn't even been aware of suffusing him with relief. He stood and looked down on Mike, trying to figure out the logistics of getting a near-comatose associate to his bedroom one-handed.

"Mike," he said, and Mike cracked open an eye. "Can you get up and walk if I help?"

Mike's brow creased in concentration, but he nodded and started pushing himself into a sitting position. His arms were weak as a kitten's and shaking something fierce, so Harvey came around to his side and helped with an arm around his back, throwing his weight behind holding Mike up. A few false starts later he was upright and at least partially aware; Harvey left him wavering in place long enough to grab the salt before guiding him towards the hall. He noticed the salt lines in front of all the windows and thought it was a little ridiculous with how far above the ground level they were. Could ghosts get in through windows that were so high up? He shook off the thoughts irritably and helped Mike sit down on the bed, trying to ignore his hiss at the pain. Despite his best effort, he couldn't quite squash his instinct to help.

"I'll be right back," he said, pushing Mike back down on the bed. He quickly made the few trips necessary to grab all the pillows from the guest bedroom, bringing them back to arrange against Mike's sides and stomach for extra support. Mike curled an arm around the one on his torso and made a little humming noise low in his throat. It made Harvey's hand itch to run over Mike's hair once again and he moved away, uncomfortable. He left Mike alone long enough to hunt up a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water for himself, and when he came back his associate was dead to the world, breathing soft and even.

He peeled off Mike's shoes and took care of his nightly ablutions before draping a spare blanket over Mike to ward against the cold coming in through the wrecked window wall and crawling into bed. It wasn't long before he was asleep himself, the soothing sound of Mike's breathing and the stress of the day seducing him into the darkness before he knew it was even happening.


	5. Five

Harvey came suddenly awake in the soft dim atmosphere of his bedroom. He blearily looked around, attempting to pinpoint the source of the disturbance, but there was nothing there. Mike was laying just as he'd arranged him before falling asleep, with his head turned away. Harvey checked his watch and groaned when he saw it was only a little after two A.M.

Mike gave a full body shudder next to him and his head flopped so that Harvey got a clear view of his face bathed in the gentle lights from outside; his expression was pained, and his brow was furrowed and twitching from fear. Harvey instinctively reached his good hand across his chest to grip Mike's shoulder and shake him awake, but paused just before making contact. He had no idea how Mike would react to being woken up like that, and he didn't want him to flail around and yank out his stitches or anything when Harvey couldn't hold him still. He grimaced and flopped back onto his pillow, watching Mike with concern and wondering which of the attacks he was dreaming about.

He let time slip away from him, just keeping an eye on Mike so that if anything serious did happen he'd be able to react in time to save Mike from any harm. Eventually it seemed that Mike's nightmare stopped, his face relaxing into an open and vulnerable expression. Harvey sighed, scooting closer and resting his hand on Mike's chest to rub small circles over his heart, rationalizing that it would comfort Mike (and not just himself.)

When he woke again, Mike's half of the bed was empty and his hand was carefully folded to lay on his chest. Harvey brought a hand up to rub his face and dragged himself out of bed in search of his wayward charge. In the living room he eyed the salt lines, debating whether it was wise to tempt fate and step outside of them to get his mail. He had no idea if the men from last night were going to be able to hold up their end of the deal, and knew he wasn't going to be able to get a hold of them to find out. He chuckled to himself over the oddity of them leaving behind salt but no phone number, and Mike's head peeked around the kitchen wall curiously.

"Something funny? Share," he demanded, and Harvey stared at his hair, mesmerized. Mike's eyes narrowed and he smoothed a hand over it, confused.

"What?"

"You look like a startled baby bird," Harvey said with wonder. Mike glared and huffed, quickly disappearing from view. Harvey chuckled to himself and turned back to find some clothes for the two of them to wear – he desperately needed to take a shower and get changed.

Finding clothes for Mike was harder than he'd expected. While he hadn't been much wider than Mike was now when he was that age, he had been much broader in the shoulders and fuller in the thighs. His search for a good suit was fruitless, so he grabbed some casual clothes. He'd just have to have Ray swing by Mike's apartment on their way to work. Mike was still clattering about in the kitchen when he came out to deliver the clothes, making Harvey nervous about what exactly it was he could be doing in there.

"Mike? Everything okay in there?" he called out in a sing-song voice, and Mike's head appeared around the wall again.

"It's fine, I'm just making breakfast. Don't worry about it," Mike told him. Harvey reluctantly nodded and decided he needed a shower and some Ibuprofen before he could deal with this. He hadn't been awake for longer than 10 minutes and already his shoulder was killing him. This was probably the first time he'd seen Mike up in the morning with a full night's sleep, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.

Harvey awkwardly peeled off his clothes, cradling his arm against his stomach as best he could, and stepped into his shower. This shower was a paragon of perfection that turned on at the exact pre-set temperature and pressure he liked most, and it might as well have cost him his firstborn. He let the stream beat the knots in the muscles of his back into submission, dropping his chin to his chest and emptying his mind of everything beyond the sheer soothing bliss. When his muscles were warm and loose and his mind clear, he soaped up, trying to see the attacks from a different angle. Those men last night really had him going, but in the light of day? It sounded just like the crazy tripe it was.

He rinsed off, shaking his head at the thought of himself being taken in like that at his age and with how much he'd seen. Yeah, they were definitely good at what they did – conning people. They must have planned this and found a guy who looked like Aaron to really seal the deal. He'd have to make sure the cleaning crew knew to check for anything missing. He dried off efficiently and studied himself in the mirror over the sink while he shaved. There weren't any obvious cuts on his hands or face, but the sling and not only the bandage on Mike's cheek but the way Mike must be moving with all those stitches would give them away in a second. There would be no use in lying to Donna, doubly so because she was always on his side, but the rest of the firm Harvey was sure he could handle. Except Jessica, she could be a problem. He couldn't tell her the truth, but he also couldn't lie. If he even tried, she'd know, and then she'd hound him even more.

He stared into the mirror, not bothering to try something as complicated as styling his hair beyond drying and combing it one-handed, and tried to think of an explanation Jessica would believe, growing frustrated with the effort. Harvey wasn't one to be unsure of anything, but he was unsure of everything right now and it was having a significantly detrimental effect on his ability to be decisive. He could try to convince himself that all of this was some elaborate con as much as he liked, but there was a niggling little voice in his head yelling that it was real and no rationalization would help. He gave up and drew his eyes quickly over his appearance, ducking into his room to dress once satisfied.

The silence from the kitchen caught his ear as he painfully buttoned his cuffs and made his way down the hall. He turned the corner, ready to pick at Mike's culinary skills, when the view that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. Mike's back was liberally littered with band-aids and butterfly bandages – the poor kid looked like a tacky domestic violence PSA, or a band-aid commercial. Harvey couldn't stop a sharp bark from escaping at the unexpected sight, and Mike whipped around in surprise.

The view from this side was far more sobering, and Harvey hissed a breath in through his teeth. While Mike's back only had small cuts, his torso was a mess of thick white gauze and bruising, and combined with the fresh bandage on his neck, it made him look far more vulnerable than Harvey would like. He knew it had to be painful and suddenly wished he did have some of those painkillers to give to Mike. He didn't realize how bare his expressions were on his face until Mike rolled his eyes and brusquely pulled the shirt over his head. Or maybe it was just that Mike was getting better at reading him.

Whatever.

"I'm a big boy, Harvey, I can handle it. Pretty sure I've probably had worse, not that I can remember exactly when right now," he said, turning his back and walking into the kitchen. "I fixed us breakfast. You can have some if you don't think I'm trying to poison you."

Harvey followed him in at a more sedate pace, pushing down his concern in favor of Mike's own attitude towards his injuries. If Mike was going to insist he was fine, Harvey wasn't going to argue the point; it was better for his sanity that way. They dished up their respective plates in companionable silence, Harvey fixing his schedule for the day in his mind and Mike focusing on ignoring the pull of stitches in his gut.

"Would you rather we stop by your apartment to grab a suit or have me get Ray to do it?" Harvey asked once they were seated at the table. He took a bite of the eggs and was delightfully surprised that Mike wasn't a half-bad cook, at least when it was something as simple as scrambled eggs.

"Uh. How is Ray going to get in if I'm not there to let him in?" Harvey just gave him a look, and Mike held up his hands. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

He paused in thought, dragging his fork absently through his eggs.

"Ray," he finally said decisively. He kept his head low as he looked up at Harvey to gauge his reaction, so Harvey didn't give him one. He was having a rough few days; if ever there was a time for Harvey to cut him some slack, this was it. Harvey checked his watch and pulled out his cell to phone Ray – if the man was going to have time to pick some things up from Mike's apartment he was going to need to know sooner rather than later.

 

oOo

 

By the point closing time (or at least, what a normal person's idea of closing time would be) rolled around at Pearson Hardman, Harvey was feeling pretty secure about Mike's safety. Nothing unusual had occurred the entire day, and even Louis and the associates had stopped treading on eggshells around him. So much so, in fact, that Harvey was having a hard time locating his associate to check up on him one last time before ordering in dinner. It would probably be a good idea to have Mike stay with him for at least a few more days, until Harvey was sure that Mike was not only not going to be attacked again but was also dealing adequately with the trauma of seeing someone he knew die right in front of him.

Harvey finally found Mike holed up in the file room, surrounded by box upon box of files that presumably belonged to one of Louis's cases. He looked tired, sweaty, and pale with one arm curled around his stomach for support. Harvey squashed his emotions of concern ruthlessly; he might be more comfortable exhibiting them in his home, but at work it was best to avoid them altogether. Still, maybe he should invite Mike to join him in ordering out; he could probably use a break after his semi-vacation from hell.

Harvey dropped the folder he'd brought as a cover for his checking up on Mike on top of the papers Mike was reading and was disappointed by Mike looking up at him with no discernible reaction.

"Harvey," he said blandly, checking his watch and opening the folder. "What's this?"

"It's nothing that can't wait, actually. Eaten yet? I swear you lose 10 pounds every time I turn my back," Harvey said, lip curling in feigned disgust. "Youth, it's disgusting."

Mike gave him a coy look and set down the papers he had been working on.

"Why, Harvey, as I live and breath. Are you asking me to dinner?" Mike asked, affecting a falsetto, complete with a Southern belle accent. Harvey stared at him flatly, unamused.

"Not if you keep that shit up, I'm not," he said. Mike laughed and shoved his chair back with a sharp screech, not bothering to grab his jacket before coming around the table. His shoulder bumped Harvey's as they made their way to the elevators, and both men felt inexplicably lighter for the other's company.

Neither noticed the papers fluttering on the table behind them in a non-existent wind.

 

oOo

 

Harvey was almost done with his General Tsao's chicken before he realized that Mike was only picking at his chow mein. He'd spent most of dinner ignoring Mike the best he could after Mike had nagged to know what Harvey had told Jessica. That conversation was pretty high up on the list of conversations Harvey never wanted to go through again.

Now that he was thinking about it, Harvey realized that Mike had been reluctant at best about eating the breakfast he'd gone to the trouble to cook. A heavy feeling settled in his gut and he sighed, setting his chopsticks neatly next to his plate. Mike's shoulders tensed at the sound and he kept his eyes firmly on his carton of noodles, sensing what was coming.

"Do we need to talk about this, Mike?" Harvey asked. Mike's mouth twisted and he shrugged, at a loss for a feasible excuse. Harvey leaned back in his chair, settling in to wait Mike out – it didn't take long. Not even a minute passed before Mike resignedly dropped the fork in the carton and set it carefully on the low table in front of Harvey's office couch. He mirrored Harvey's pose, one hand picking at a loose button on his shirt cuff.

"It doesn't taste right," he said, and if it had been anyone but Harvey that heard him say it they might not have read anything into it. It was Harvey, though, and he clearly heard the second, more serious meaning underlying the simple statement. It wasn't that the chow mein tasted off, it was that everything tasted off. A clear memory of Mike spitting blood into the gutter flashed across Harvey's mind, and his heart fluttered in his chest with sympathy.

"Aw, kid," Harvey said. Mike still didn't meet his eyes, but the muscles in his shoulders loosened at the understanding Harvey had displayed. A contemplative silence hung between them as Harvey cast about in his memory for anything that could help with the taste, but this wasn't exactly a situation he'd found himself in before.

When the silence had stretched too long, Mike grabbed up the chow mein and darted an awkward glance up at Harvey.

"I can deal with this, it's not really a big thing." He aimlessly twirled some noodles around his fork, the need to occupy his hands too strong to ignore. "It was like this for a while after my parents died. I didn't want to eat if they couldn't, and everything was tasteless anyway. So I didn't."

Harvey honestly didn't know what to say to that, so he kept his peace, just sat there watching Mike stare into his food like it held the answer to all the world's problems. There were some things even the great Harvey Specter didn't know how to fix. Mike blinked and came out of his fugue, meeting Harvey's eyes with determination.

"That was a long time ago, and I'm old enough now to eat when I need to." He proved his point by taking the bite he'd been playing with and chewing single-mindedly. Harvey conceded the point and tipped his head.

"All right, I'll take your word for it," Harvey said, and was rewarded by the pleased satisfaction that lightened Mike's expression. He looked out the window at the night adorned by the lights in the surrounding buildings and back at the clock on his computer.

"Would you rather finish that up back at my place?" he asked, and watched the impulse to protest staying at his place again cross Mike's face. Common sense and the knowledge of Harvey's sheer awesomeness clearly won out and he didn't protest.

"That's fine. We leaving?"

"Yeah, I think we've done as much as we're going to tonight. Go get your stuff," Harvey said, and Mike scurried off to grab his bag.

Harvey had all of their papers organized and ready to go and was impatiently waiting at the door a few minutes later, Mike nowhere in sight. He checked his watch irritably, knowing that there was no reason for Mike to be delayed like this at such a late hour in the office.

A shiver ran down his spine and he straightened abruptly when the thought that the ghost could be attacking Mike right now crossed his mind; with no return of the paranormal onslaught over the course of the day he'd managed to subdue the paranoid mutterings of his unsettled mind. The consequential guilt settled heavy on his shoulders like a mantle as he made his way warily to Mike's desk in the associate's area, hoping that Mike hadn't let his guard down due to the line of questioning he'd led him down.

Mike wasn't at his desk, and Harvey waffled as to where his associate might go besides his desk. He had an 'Aha!' moment when his roving gaze alighted on the hallway that housed the bathrooms. That should have been the first place he'd thought of, they'd been cooped up in his office for hours without either of them leaving even for the restroom. Neither of them had taken the strange orders from those men the previous night lightly, making sure that they were always tripping over each others' heels no matter how much of a hassle it was. At least, they hadn't until Mike disappeared some time after lunch to work in the file room.

The voices were audible even before Harvey came abreast with the doors, Louis' voice easily overpowering Mike's so that his was the only one Harvey could understand. He paused so he could get a handle on what the conversation was about before barging in.

" – be hiding in Harvey's office. It sets a bad example for the other associates."

Mike's voice piped up in protest, but Louis barreled over top of him.

"I heard about you wrangling the rest of the herd before you brought me that fax, and that makes you the leader. You have to pay attention to the front you present to other people, Mike, especially in this firm. It's a dog eat dog world out there."

Harvey groaned in an echo of Mike at the cliché, unfortunately not surprised at the lame turn of phrase.

"I know, Louis, I wasn't hiding. Harvey needed me to go over – "

"Harvey needed, Harvey wanted, Harvey Harvey Harvey," Louis said in a high-pitched nasally voice. "You're not solely under Harvey's purview, Mike, and if you can't figure out how to juggle the work he assigns you with the needs of the rest of the partners, maybe you're not as fit for this job as Harvey seems to believe. You need to make yourself available, even if that means you never go home and never sleep. Got it?"

This seemed like a good point to interrupt, and Harvey was surprised to find Mike's eyes already intent on the mirror as he entered. There was no way Mike had heard him waiting out in the hall, so it must be that he was worried about being trapped near the mirror. It dawned on Harvey then how hard the day must have been for Mike, what with glass being the weapon of choice in every attack. He gave Mike a quelling look and waited for the subtle nod in response before he came to a stop where Louis could see him.

"Louis," Harvey said, feigning surprise. "We've got to stop spending time together in the restroom, people are going to talk. And with an associate? I don't think your reputation can take any more hits."

He watched delightedly as Louis clenched his jaw and forced himself not to crack his neck. The rat-faced man spoke through his teeth, his swiftly rising blood pressure evident in his flushed cheeks.

"Harvey, I didn't realize you were still around," he ground out, eyes cutting dangerously to Mike. "You're here to fetch your dog?"

Harvey smirked with amusement, giving a little whistle and patting his thigh just to yank Louis' chain. Mike obligingly trotted over to Harvey's side, panting and completely ignoring Louis. Harvey laughed at the twitch contorting one of Louis' eyes and guided Mike out of the bathroom, good hand settled in the curve of his back. Louis breathed deep and turned to look in the mirror, running his tongue over his teeth and inspecting them as he smoothed a hand over his close short hair.

The mirror cracked, its spidery tendrils distorting his reflection, and Louis froze.


	6. Six

Mike had fetched his bag from his desk and they were almost to the elevator when he grabbed a handful of Harvey's suit to stop him.

"I forgot my phone in your office," he said. Harvey rolled his eyes, vexed.

"Is it really that important? It'll still be there tomorrow." Mike fixed him with a pleading expression and Harvey knew he was putting up a token protest at best. The kid did have a way of getting what he wanted.

"What if something happens to my Grams? The hospital can't reach me without my phone," he said, and Harvey capitulated gracefully. They hurriedly made their way back to the office, the sparsely lit hall beginning to make them uneasy. The elevator had dinged as Louis left while they were still occupied at Mike's desk, and the pervasive silence in such a typically noisy space was eerie, making the hall seem much longer and more ominous than usual.

Harvey's office, like his home, always gave him a center to focus on and some peace of mind. He was dismayed when it failed to do so this time, and he cast an eye over it warily as Mike dug under the couch cushions. He looked back to Mike just in time to see him yank his hand out triumphantly, phone clutched in one fist.

"Ha! I knew it was there," Mike crowed, inordinately pleased. He turned to Harvey, extending one hand for his bag, but clenched it tightly in a fist and pulled it back before making contact. Harvey watched with dread as Mike's pupils shrank to a pinpoint in fear when the ominous and unmistakable sound of splintering glass came from behind them both. He met Mike's eyes over the suddenly vast space of a few feet between them, his heart beating double time as his mind blanked for the first time in his recent memory. The knowledge of what was coming was dark in Mike's vulnerable blue eyes, and Harvey was overcome by the urge to protect Mike from the weariness creasing his brow.

The walls and windows all around shattered with a resounding crash, and Harvey leaped into action, launching himself at Mike, dragging him into a crouch and wrapping him in a desperate embrace. Harvey cradled the back of Mike's head in one hand as he forced him to bury his face in Harvey's shoulder to protect his eyes, shrugging out of his sling and ignoring the pain to curl the other arm around Mike's shoulders. The fingers of that hand clawed into the thick muscle of Mike's bicep so hard it had to hurt Mike as well, the heat of Mike's skin burning hot into Harvey through all the clothes between them.

The roar of the wind grew so loud that Harvey could feel it as a physical pressure against his eardrums, and he tucked Mike against himself as firmly as he could. The terror was growing with every beat of his heart, the glass skimming over his flesh flirtatiously, and he was almost grateful for the adrenaline that enabled him to push the pain away. He flinched with every touch and could feel Mike trembling and doing the same, damp warmth soaking through the heavy cloth of the shoulder of his jacket.

Mike cried out and Harvey's grip spasmed as a stray shard dealt them both the first deep blow, slicing its way across the top of Mike's shoulder and catching Harvey in the delicate flesh between middle and ring finger and trailing down the back of his hand. Mike's hands came up to clutch at the lapels of Harvey's jacket, his back arching in a futile attempt to get away from the glass focusing on his flanks and lower back. The glass was doing substantial damage now, and Harvey felt frustrated tears press between his own lashes, his inability to protect Mike from this rending him from the inside out.

Harvey panted against the pain and anger, unable to see a way out of this for either of them. Mike beat a fist against Harvey's chest as a piece of glass gouged its way across his stomach, a gut-wrenching whine ripping from his throat. Harvey slipped his grip down to Mike's waist and pulled him flush against his torso, blocking off at least one more angle of attack, inordinately pleased at the ability to help even in such a small manner. Mike's chest shuddered in a sob and Harvey prayed for this to end, prayed that this was all a mistake and he really was just losing his mind, anything to mean that he and Mike weren't going to die here like this.

He buried his face into Mike's shoulder and hugged him to his chest as tightly as he could. He pressed his lips to Mike's jaw, rough with stubble, and murmured the words he couldn't say but felt with all he had into the pale skin. Mike's grip twitched and Harvey almost thought the younger man had heard him, the moment seeming almost an eye in the storm, but there was simply no way. He pressed a fervent kiss to the spot warm from his breath and Mike's breath hiccoughed in his chest, his face nuzzling further into Harvey's shoulder.

A shotgun blast fractured their violent reality, all the glass suddenly getting whipped into the hall by the strong wind blowing in through the gaping hole where the windows had once stood. Harvey sucked in a surprised breath and wrenched his face from its hiding place to stare in shock at the unexpected but welcome sight of Sam and Dean, back-lit against the low lights in the hall. Sam wasted no time in striding over to the both of them and forcing them to their feet, pulling them stumbling along behind him to the relative safety of the hall.

"We need an interior room, no windows. Now!" Dean barked, and Harvey snapped back to his senses. The inane thought that he had no idea how to explain the holes in the wall from the shotgun blast to Jessica occurred to him, as though he was going to be able to find a reasonable explanation for any of the damage incurred on the Pearson Hardman facilities tonight, and he shook it away. He dismissed the bathroom as a viable choice, the large sheet mirror presenting too great a threat.

"The copy room," Harvey said, taking Mike by the wrist and quickly tugging him with him away from the wreck of his once pristine office. The further from the mess they moved, the more glass walls they found intact, and it set Harvey's teeth on edge. Dean kept pace with Harvey, his shotgun brandished before him and whipping back and forth as he peered around corners for any signs of the ghost. They managed to reach the copy room in peace, and the men wasted no time in slamming the door shut and laying salt lines at all the entrances.

Harvey caught his breath and gave Mike a worried once-over; while Harvey had numerous superficial cuts, Mike's shirt and pants were gaping in places and liberally splattered with blood. He still looked shell-shocked and was gaping at their rescuers with dazed disbelief, swaying on his feet and losing copious amounts of blood. Harvey reached out for him, realizing they needed to get the bleeding stopped, and that there were no first aid supplies readily at hand.

A lump choked off his throat, and Harvey funneled the unwanted emotion into anger, remembering that these men had promised that they were going to take care of this problem. He didn't have the energy to tell himself that it was all some elaborate plot, there was no rational explanation he could think of to explain the behavior of the glass. He pivoted to pin Dean with his sharpest glare.

"What the hell happened? You said you were going to take care of this, and that? That is not taken care of!" he snapped, and Dean bristled.

"Yeah, well we did what we were supposed to do! This isn't exactly a science, ya know," he said gruffly, and Sam held up a mollifying hand. Dean looked disgruntled, but he backed off, turning his back on the three of them with a huff and peering down the short hall to the back entrance to the room. Sam heaved a put-upon sigh and Harvey jerked his jacket as straight as he could, refusing to feel guilty over his harsh treatment of the men who had undeniably just saved both his and Mike's life.

"These things don't always go the way they're supposed to, but that doesn't matter," Sam started, turning his attention to Mike. "Do you know if there was anything left that was important to this guy, or if someone had a lock of his hair or something like that?"

Mike turned a blank look on him for a moment while his mind caught up, and then blinked in confusion.

"It's not like the guy was my friend. I have no idea about anything like that."

"What the hell kind of question is that, anyway? What does his hair have to do with this?" Harvey asked belligerently, and Mike's gaze seemed to clear as he turned his eyes on him.

"They must have burned Aaron's body. Some lore says that if you burn the body, it puts the spirit to rest, but if there's any part of the body left behind the ghost can come back. Something like a lock of hair or teeth or substantial amounts of blood will do," he explained, and then the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. "The blood! The clothes I was wearing the day he was hit, they're in my desk. I couldn't throw them away after what happened."

Harvey took one look at his regret-filled eyes and gripped the back of his neck in support. Dean had rejoined them, coming closer to fully hear Mike, impressed by any such knowledge in a layman. Sam shared a look with his brother before smiling sympathetically at Mike.

"It's okay, you couldn't have known. Where are the clothes?" Sam asked.

"They're here in my bottom left desk drawer," Mike said, looking relieved that they were so easy to reach. He swayed and Harvey wrapped a careful arm around his waist, dragging him over to a chair sitting unobtrusively in the corner and forcing him into it. While Harvey pulled off his jacket and pressed it against the cut on Mike's stomach, Sam and Dean argued quietly, Dean clutching a drab green canvas bag protectively. Harvey kept watch on them out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out what they were arguing about and help Mike at the same time. Whatever it was, Sam emerged victorious and Dean sighed angrily, glaring at Harvey.

"You. Know how to handle a shotgun?" he asked brusquely. Harvey refrained from sneering and nodded. The guy opened the bag and yanked out another shotgun almost identical to the one held in his free hand, and Harvey almost regretted his answer. Sam took the gun from his brother and brought it over to Harvey, double-checking to be sure that it was loaded and bringing up a question in Harvey's mind.

"It could really tear up your shoulder, but it's not like there's a better option," Sam said apologetically.

"What's in these things anyway? Does shooting buckshot at a ghost really work?" Harvey was getting tired of being the one asking questions and getting coddled like an amateur. He was not an amateur. Regardless, Sam looked amused.

"Salt rounds," he replied dryly, and Harvey squinted up at him from where he was still crouched at Mike's side.

"Come again?"

"We make our own ammo, for ghosts it's salt rounds. It weakens them and forces them to disappear for a while," Dean piped up, still clearly disgruntled over having to hand over a weapon to someone he didn't know. Maybe it was the whole civilian thing, he seemed like the military type.

"We need to go," he added to Sam. Sam nodded and passed a canister of salt out of his own bag to Harvey.

"Re-do the line at the door if it gets messed up when we open the door," he ordered. Harvey didn't argue, figuring it was a good enough order with the way things were headed tonight.

With the door closed behind them, silence fell in the small, cold room. Harvey leaned back against the door wearily, more than ready for the madness to end. As soon as it was all over, he and Mike had a date with some quality Scotch. He met Mike's tired eyes from across the room and Mike quirked a smile, thoughts obviously running in the same direction. Mike tilted his head back against the wall and shifted in the chair with discomfort, pressing the jacket against his stomach still. Harvey pushed away from the wall, intent on doing a more thorough examination now that they had a moment to breathe sans audience.

Harvey had Mike lean away from the wall as he prodded as gently as he could at the scrapes and cuts on his back, thankful that none of them seemed to be serious enough for stitches. Except for the cut on his stomach Mike seemed to have walked away from this encounter practically scot-free, at least compared to the night before.

"How did you know that stuff about the hair? You don't really believe in this crap, do you?" Harvey asked, unable to shake his disdain for the supernatural even with the evidence staring him in the face. Mike looked at him wryly over his shoulder and Harvey made a face back.

"My Grams has a thing for it, she loves all those ghost hunter shows. They mention this stuff sometimes. The hellhoundslair website had some stuff on the salt, these douchebags thought they were real ghost hunters. Called themselves the Ghostfacers," he said distractedly, gazing at the door thoughtfully.

"Did you notice how they didn't ask where my desk was?" he asked bemusedly, and Harvey blinked. He hadn't, and it was a clear sign that the stress was getting to him. He fought not to let up on the pressure he was putting on the few cuts that needed it on Mike's back while he answered, his shoulder making its protests loud and clear.

"I don't think I want to know."

Mike hummed in agreement, mind still focused on what they could be doing out there. Harvey could tell that the wind had picked up again outside and shifted to look over his shoulder; even though he knew Mike would say something if the salt line was disturbed, it made him feel better to look for himself. He'd no sooner turned to look than there was a great crash, audible even over the sound of the wind through the door, and he felt Mike jump under his hands.

"I hope they're going to be okay," Mike murmured. Harvey scoffed.

"Yesterday we thought they were stalking you, why the hell are you worried about them?"

Mike glanced up at him, eyes dark with worry, and Harvey melted. Just a little.

"Buck up, kid. You should be worrying about yourself."

The door slammed open and Sam came barreling through, bloody clothes gripped tightly in one hand, other occupied by a bottle of lighter fluid. Harvey didn't have time to react before Dean was through the door and slamming it shut, but it still wasn't fast enough to keep some of the glass out. Dean didn't bother laying another salt line, instead crouching next to his brother with a Zippo as Sam liberally doused the clothes with the lighter fluid. It took a few tries to get the lighter to stay lit, the wind whipping through the room doing its best to throttle the flames, but Dean somehow managed and tossed it on the clothes.

The flame caught with a soft whoomph, and the wind stopped almost instantaneously. Mike winced at the tink of the glass impacting the hard floor, and Harvey realized he was still in the same position he'd been in when they'd burst through the door. He pulled in a shaky breath, staring at the small fire in disbelief, transfixed.

"Well. That was anticlimactic," Mike said, voice warbling. Sam chuckled, standing and coming over to Mike while Dean did his best to put out the fire before the rug caught the flame. Harvey pulled his eyes away from the flame with some difficulty to find Sam pulling a humble first aid kit from his bag. He figured he shouldn't really be surprised at this point by anything they pulled out of their bag of tricks, but they hadn't had any first aid kits with them the night before. Then again, maybe they just hadn't wanted to use their own if Harvey had one handy. It was hard to imagine that this kind of job left time for something more realistic, and he sure as hell wasn't going to pay them.

Harvey reigned in his thoughts, realizing that he was getting sidetracked. He helped Sam pull off Mike's tattered shirt and clean and dress the cuts. It didn't take as long as he'd have expected, and it wasn't long before he was left standing there at a loss, arm cradled close against his side. What exactly were they supposed to do now? It irritated him how often he was finding himself in this position, it didn't mesh with his world view well at all. Almost like he could read Harvey's mind, Mike spoke up.

"What do we do now?" he asked rhetorically, but Dean looked up at him from where he was trying to move a fax machine to cover the charred spot on the carpet. His features softened with some sort of protective instinct and Harvey could feel his eye twitch possessively.

"You do whatever you want," Dean said succinctly. "You can let this bother you, or you can move on. Tons of people believe in this stuff and go about living with no problem."

Sam looked at him in surprise, but didn't say anything to countermand it. He just shrugged and packed away his first aid kit, then slung his bag over his shoulder.

"We'd better get out of here before the cops show up. Someone's going to notice the damage, if they haven't already. You might want to clear out yourselves, it's kinda difficult to explain this kind of scene to the cops," Sam told them, the voice of experience.

Just like that, they turned and left. Harvey found himself alone with Mike in a disaster zone on possibly the strangest night of his entire life.

 

oOo

 

Harvey flicked on the light in the living room and stared happily until Mike nudged his back.

"What is it?" Mike asked nervously, peeking around Harvey to get a look. His mouth dropped in awe and he threw an arm over Harvey's shoulders for support.

"What, do you have an army of elves you've never told me about?" he demanded. The room was spotless; the window wall had been replaced, as had the couch, the table, and everything else that had suffered a grisly death. If Mike hadn't seen the absolute disaster the night before, he never would have believed that it had happened.

Harvey rolled his eyes and shrugged him off to set his briefcase down on the new coffee table, leaving Mike wobbling for balance in the entryway.

"My cleaning crew spend all year looking forward to their Christmas bonuses," he said to Mike with a smirk. "The promise of a few weeks paid vacation didn't hurt, either."

"You're actually going to clean your own place?" Mike asked, affecting shock. Harvey turned an evil expression on him and Mike took an instinctive step back.

"No. You're going to, while you stay here so that I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't do anything stupid while you're recuperating," Harvey said, averting his eyes so they wouldn't give away his lie. He was finding the idea of letting Mike out of his sight at all a highly distasteful prospect, and earlier he'd come to the conclusion that he was Harvey Specter. If he didn't want to let Mike out of his sight, then Mike was damn well going to stay by his side. He saw Mike's face soften out of the corner of his eye, and grabbed up the plastic bag filled with their food as a distraction.

He was expecting a protest, at least about the cleaning if not the staying at Harvey's place, but Mike didn't say a word, just settled into one of the padded chairs with his bag. Harvey watched the cartons of food spin in microwave, mind blank after the overwhelming day, until he was startled by a light touch on his arm. He looked up into Mike's warmly amused expression with a small smile, contented just by Mike's presence. At least, until Mike opened his big fat mouth.

"By the way, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. After all this time you've spent starving me, now you're worried that I'm not eating enough, really?"

Harvey stared, incredulous.

"Seriously. Every time I go to eat or drink, you stop me. Afraid I'll lose my girlish figure?" he finished, lips twitching, and Harvey couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Yeah, right. The same way I'm afraid I'll come to work one morning and find you actually bought yourself a half-decent suit and tie," Harvey said wryly, and Mike grinned cheekily.

"I have this theory about that. See, you and Louis both do this snapping thing," Mike said, imitating their snap as an example. "But you never do it to me. I always wonder if you're afraid it'll damage my delicate sensibilities, since I'm obviously too incapable to dress myself properly."

Harvey gave him a Look and Mike settled back against the counter, pleased with himself.

"I was afraid of this. You're obviously brain-damaged," Harvey said flatly, digging some silverware out of a drawer and passing it and the chow mein to Mike. He dug in immediately and Harvey leaned against the counter next to him, pushing his fork through his chicken as he took a brief moment of pleasure from seeing Mike taking care of himself. Harvey didn't bother to control the feeling, figuring he'd earned the right to this happiness by virtue of keeping Mike's ass alive.

They finished their food in the peaceful ambiance, the weight of a long day's work followed by the adrenaline of the attack catching up to them and keeping their minds clear of any troublesome thoughts. Harvey couldn't help thinking it was only a fleeting moment, but he'd learned to take his breaks wherever he found them.

They moved into the living room, containers in the trash and utensils in the sink, and Harvey sat on the arm of the couch. He watched the play of emotions across Mike's face as he gazed out the window at the ever-shifting lights of the city below. It was strange, seeing Mike quiet and still for so long, but Harvey couldn't say that it was a bad thing – just different.

Harvey leaned forward to wrap his arm around Mike's hips and Mike turned so that Harvey's head could rest against his chest, careful to avoid any sore spots or cuts. Mike settled a hand on Harvey's shoulder and his nape, lightly clutching at him in an awkward hug. Harvey breathed in the residual traces of fear-sweat and antiseptic and kept Mike in place, thankful that he was still there and needing the comfort, the closeness.

Mike kept quiet, eventually shifting Harvey back so that he could press a soft kiss against his hair. Harvey allowed it, but pulled Mike back in, rolling his head to the side to gaze out the window. He sighed and reluctantly broke the silence, echoing his words from what felt like a lifetime ago.

"I'm just glad you're safe."

His words sounded like a ripple in the silence, echoing quietly in the restful space. Mike hummed in agreement and ran his fingers soothingly through the hair at the base of Harvey's neck.

"You realize you're signing up for health insurance tomorrow, right?" Harvey said. Mike groaned and dropped his hands to his sides in disgust.

"Are you happy now? You ruined the moment," he whined, and Harvey pulled back to look him in the face.

"We were having a moment? I must not have realized," Harvey said, feigning surprise. Mike glowered at him suspiciously.

"I know damn well that you know that we were having a moment," Mike said irritably. He turned his glare on his messenger bag, where his phone was buzzing and chiming wildly. Disentangling himself from Harvey with a sigh, he fished around in the bag until he found it. Mike looked at the screen and grimaced.

"It's my grandmother," he told Harvey. Harvey looked amused and waved for him to pick it up, and Mike grudgingly obliged.

"Hello?" he said warily, and Harvey could hear the voice coming through the receiver even from several feet away. Mike winced and yanked the phone from his ear, immediately trying to soothe the irate woman on the other end.

"I'm sorry, Grammy, I was busy with work, and – " He jerked in surprise when Harvey snatched the phone out of his hand and calmly addressed his grandmother.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Ross? Yes, hello, my name is Harvey Specter. Yes, that's right, I am your grandson's boss."

Mike reverently watched as his grandmother instantly seemed to calm, Harvey appearing utterly in his element as he spoke on the phone with an ailing old woman, Mike's ailing old woman.

"I'm sorry, but it's my fault that Mike didn't call you. He stayed with me last night – " She interrupted him and Harvey's eyes cut sharply to Mike, a shark smile forming on his lips. Mike's stomach flipped.

"Why, yes, of course," he said slowly, and Mike felt like a mouse being eyed by a particularly fearsome mouse. "He will be staying with me for a while."

He listened for a moment more before hanging up with a simple, "The same to you, Mrs. Ross." He handed Mike's phone back to him, eyes dark and predatory, and Mike swallowed hard.

"So, uh, what was that all about?" Mike asked, voice pitchy.

"Oh, you know. She wanted to know if I was taking good care of you, meeting all your needs. She said something about being a very open-minded and progressive woman," Harvey said, and Mike paused, eyes roving over Harvey's face as his mind ran back over the conversation. He hadn't heard the word no in there.

Harvey met his hopeful eyes and nodded, bringing his hand up to cup Mike's cheek. Mike turned his face into it happily, grinning like a fool, cupping it with his own hand. Harvey stepped in and wrapped his arm around Mike's waist, tenderly capturing his lips, and Mike melted into the embrace.

Harvey slid his lips across Mike's again and again, slow and gentle, letting Mike experience everything he'd tried to say before and couldn't. Warmth pooled low in his gut as Mike pressed back enthusiastically, snaking his arms around Harvey's neck and licking at his lips to deepen the kiss. Harvey let his mouth fall open under the gentle onslaught, sliding his tongue into Mike's mouth to caress and explore, and Mike groaned, dropping a hand to flutter it gently against the bandage peeking through his shirt.

"Ow," Mike said, muffled against his lips, and Harvey pulled himself away, panting slightly.

Mike's lips were glistening in the low light, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and Harvey was hard pressed not to go right back to kissing him senseless, but he knew his limits. Right now going any further would do more harm than good, what with at least 50 stitches and a bum arm between them. Mike read the regret in his eyes and thumped his head against the wall.

"Why do you always have to be so damn sensible, Harvey?" Mike sighed, and Harvey pressed a soft close-mouthed kiss to his lips.

"I wasn't sensible when I hired you, was I?" he pointed out, and Mike sighed again.

"Point."

Harvey helped Mike lever himself off the wall and peered down the hall at the bedroom wistfully.

"Bed?"

"Bed," Mike agreed.

They made their way into Harvey's bedroom, and Harvey stared at his bed – the epitome of sinful decadence, even more so than the shower – mournfully. Mike paused in his stripping to look at him questioningly and Harvey rubbed a hand over his face.

"The salt," he said, and Mike tilted his head in consideration.

"It can't hurt to be too careful, can it?" Mike offered, and Harvey experienced déjà vu.

"Do we have to have a talk about you saying that? Again?" he asked, and Mike laughed.

"No one will know besides the cleaners."

"I can see it now. The tabloids, headlines read 'Harvey Specter, best closer in New York develops paralyzing paranoia about ghosts.'"

Mike stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"You really are as full of yourself as you seem," he said, and Harvey sighed. Harvey stood there, torn, until Mike finishing shucking his pants and pulled back the covers to sit down.

"Come to bed, Harvey," he said quietly, and Harvey didn't argue. He stripped and climbed into bed, bad shoulder towards Mike, and they lay there staring at the ceiling side by side. Mike snorted and pressed as close to Harvey's side as he could, unable to curl up like he wanted thanks to the stitches. He shifted uncomfortably and Harvey rolled his head to look at him in amazement.

"Do you ever stop moving?"

Mike pouted and deliberately shifted again. Harvey rolled his eyes at the childish behavior and looked back up at the ceiling. Silence reigned for thirty seconds, tops.

"You didn't brush your teeth," Mike pointed out, and Harvey laughed in exasperation.

"Neither did you!"

"Point."

Harvey thumped his good hand against Mike's chest and Mike buried his face in his pillow to stifle a laugh. One happy blue eye peeked out at him and Harvey smiled, leaving his hand where it lay. Mike nuzzled further into the pillow and sighed contentedly, dropping off into sleep almost immediately. Harvey drifted away slowly, feeling all was good in his world.

He could really get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, you rock. This was my first story to go beyond the 10,000 word mark, so I imagine it was rough. Thanks for reading! :)


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